Splintered
by Jessa4865
Summary: Life in general is not going well for Olivia. Being kidnapped only makes it worse. EO COMPLETE!
1. Day One

Splintered

Jezyk

Spoilers: Through Inconceivable, just to be certain, but set some vague time in the near future

Disclaimer: Hey, I'm unemployed, a writer, and non-union. Anybody want to hire me to finish the season?

Warning: This isn't really easy to write because my first instinct is to make things light and fluffy (think Redi-Whip, people). This fic is… well… not.

_Unknown Day_

_dark_

_cold_

_damp_

_pain_

_The unhappy words were pretty much all she had left._

_She closed her eyes to block it out. She'd prided herself on being independent and resilient and capable of defending herself. But those solid, strong words no longer suited her. She was weak and helpless and pathetic. Having been stripped of all her defenses, all her strength, all the deeply ingrained ways she defined herself, she had no pride, no dignity._

_She clung to the vestiges of humanity remaining, pulling the filthy sleeves of her once-cream colored top over her fingers. There was nothing she could do with the skimpy panties she wore, their white cotton stained a disgusting gray she didn't have the luxury of contemplating. There weren't even hers, something that had initially tuned her stomach, except after the hideous exposure she felt before he'd brought them when she'd been left in only her shirt, she was willing to overlook it._

_She told herself it was her own fault. Her stubborn pride, unperturbed by sense, had refused to allow her to ask for permission to use the bathroom. There was no way for her to tell time, no predictable pattern to her captor's behavior, so she had no way of determining how long it had taken. She'd fought the urge so hard, suffering through the pain in her kidneys, the pressure in her bladder. But eventually, her will bent to base physical function. Olivia hadn't wet her pants since she was three years old. And her reaction had been practically the same – she fell apart, sobbing and hysterical over her loss of control. She thought that was the worst feeling in the world, trying to ignore the sickening, clammy wetness that seeped between her legs and stained her pants._

_He'd been angry at her, shouting and yelling and demanding to know why she'd done such a thing._

_But the true low had followed when he pulled her pants from her body, along with her own ruined panties. With her experiences in her career, she feared that she would be raped, violated in an almost familiar way. Somehow it was worse when he produced baby wipes, forcing her legs apart and cleaning her intimately. Her stomach heaved violently and futilely as his hands ran over her private parts, along the insides of her thighs, even spreading her folds to make sure she was thoroughly cleaned. He'd talked to her, of course, the whole time, as he'd done the whole time she'd been his prisoner, talking as if to soothe a soiled baby, saying nonsense in a silly voice, promising that he was making it all better._

_Having learned her lesson and desperate to avoid another violation, which in her mind, had been as brutal and intrusive and debasing as rape, she allowed her abused, destroyed pride to crawl away and lowered herself to follow his rules, weakly ringing the buzzer attached above her handcuffed wrists to ask him to let her relieve herself._

_She'd done so six times before he produced the replacement underpants. After so long spent exposed to his eyes, the used, skimpy cloth seemed almost decadent, except that he insisted on putting them on her._

_Survival instincts took over then, letting her rationalize anything she needed to do or say or wear. She needed food and water to live, for example, so that made it ok to endure him holding her fork and raising her glass to her lips. It was even ok that she not feel upset or scared or sad for any of it because she might cry for all the frustration. Crying was dangerous because it would stuff up her nose and make it difficult to breathe. Her mouth was always thoroughly gagged, a washcloth in her mouth, covered by duct tape. Her skin was raw and torn from his repeated removal of the gag, but she didn't complain. She had no idea what doing so would merit her._

_But sometimes he went to her, comforted her, assured her he'd protect her._

_It was all she had to look forward to, nauseating as the idea of snuggling with the bastard was. So she told herself his shoulders were wider and stronger. She imagined the soft flesh under her under her arm was hard and defined. She pretended the squishy, unworked muscles of his chest were hard and distinct. She convinced herself that the arms holding her were warm and loving and strong._

_And even as he forced her cuffed arms to encircle his crushing, overweight frame, she would close her eyes and sleep safely in Elliot's arms. But there was always something slightly off, no matter how hard she tried to make herself believe._

_The fact was that he simply never smelled quite right. She knew Elliot's scent. She knew the way it would linger on her clothes after a long day at work. She knew the way it would permeate the car whenever they rode together, especially the way it would nearly choked her when the heat was on and the windows rolled up. She knew the way it changed, mingled with sweat and anger when he went on the attack. She even knew the most powerful combination, the one she couldn't resist, when it combined with the sweat and anger and mixed in desire while he was pounding into her._

_No one else could ever be Elliot._

_And that was the point she reached, every time he held her, when she couldn't hold on any longer, when her terror and pain and fear and shame took over, when she crumbled into herself and sobbed into an exhausted, horrified sleep._

Day One

It was just before three on a Thursday afternoon. The bullpen was relatively quiet, for a police station at least, and Olivia was looking for a way to avoid doing anymore paperwork. Cragen would have been quite happy if she'd plugged along steadily all day, but the boredom had overtaken her before she'd finished her first cup of coffee and she'd been forcing herself to keep trying for hours.

Normally, she would have had the distraction of Elliot's elusive humor to help her out. Not that his jokes were ever funny, except for the occasional one that didn't make her roll her eyes, but even rolling her eyes would be welcome. Anything to take her mind off the monotony. Paperwork was not something people who wanted to be cops were good at.

Of course, if anyone asked, Olivia Benson had joined the police force to help people, to comfort victims in a way her mother never had been, possibly even to find her father.

Of course, anyone who knew her knew that was a load of shit. Initial altruism aside, Olivia was a cop because she loved the thrill, the rush of adrenaline, the relief of still being alive at the end of a chase. Because all her life she'd battled with the pain of her conception at the cost of her mother's suffering and sobriety. So many times Olivia herself had hit the bottle in high school and college, wondering why she kept living, wishing she didn't ever have to wake up, that there was a distinct comfort in even having a fear, however transient, of death, in the joy of survival. It wasn't just a high, just a love of danger; it was the knowledge that she'd faced the danger, stared down assholes like her father, and had not simply survived, but conquered.

Some people had big houses. Some people had a gaggle of kids. Some people took drugs. Olivia locked up bastards who'd voluntarily given up their right to intermingle with the rest of society.

So there was a little bit of self-righteousness and a dash of a superiority thrown in there too. Those were the parts she shared with her partner of ten years, the partner with whom she was currently having an argument. She couldn't remember what the fight was about, who'd started it, nor who'd been the one to initiate the stand-off, but she figured if it didn't matter enough for her to remember, it clearly wasn't that big of a fight.

Bored, she lifted her coffee mug, trying to do a mental count of how many cups she'd had that day. "Bleh! God that's disgusting!" She spat the mouthful back into the mug, glaring at it as though it was to blame for her having forgotten it so long that it had grown cold.

Elliot looked up, annoyed by her intrusion into his productive day. "Haven't you had enough of that today? You're going to be up all night."

Pleased that the fight appeared to be over, Olivia immediately forgot about the coffee and smiled at her partner. "I need to be up all night. I have a date." Her eyes twinkled as she turned back to her computer.

"Who's it with this time?" It wasn't that he really cared who she was dating, but he liked to have names of guys she dated.

She suspected it was so he could run background checks on them, something she'd overcome early on in her career. "Phil."

"Dr. Phil? Again? Geez, Liv, when's the wedding?"

She laughed as she threw a balled up piece of paper at him. Phil Nicholson was a good looking, well educated, smooth talking doctor. So smooth talking and nice looking that Olivia had been willing to overlook her personal aversion to anyone named Phil, most of all someone that Elliot could so easily laugh at. He'd been engaged twice, he'd admitted, but never gone through with it. The admission had reassured her that she wasn't the only one who had no fear of commitment, provided said commitment was a bit shorter than until death do us part. She just didn't see the point. She preferred to continue relationships as long as they were fun and lacked stress. She got her fill of stressful relationships at work. "I've only gone out with him a few times." Playing down his joke, she tried not to think about it. It was hard, after all, to find someone whose schedule was as ridiculous as her own and thereby wouldn't be offended at being put off repeatedly.

"Just a few more times than you've ever dated anyone." He was looking at his computer screen, which Olivia decided was the cause of his frown.

"Are you keeping track or are you just jealous?" She meant for it to be a joke, but his eyes found hers across their desks and she shivered at the unexpected anger there.

"What the hell would I be jealous of? The last thing I want is to be tied down." He got up, stalking across the office to a row of filing cabinets, retrieving a folder, and then slamming the drawer.

Olivia rolled her eyes and redoubled her efforts to do something productive. Ever since the divorce, Elliot had been a bit touchy regarding relationships. So touchy, in fact, that she'd never managed to wheedle the whole story out of him. As far as she knew, things were hunky-dory at the Stabler house; and then one day, they'd up and decided to get a divorce after all. She'd been putting up with his mood swings for three months, giving her yet another reason to not want to get married ever.

Luckily, her phone rang, saving her from having to interact with her partner for a few minutes. By the time he was once again seated across from her, she was hanging up and reaching for her jacket. "Let's go, El. We've got a case."

Elliot swallowed half of his coffee in one gulp, pulling his blazer off the back of his chair and following his partner. "What's up?"

She tossed him the keys as she referred to her notepad. "Natalie Miller, 23. Nurse said she's not saying much, but she's been worked over pretty well."

Not saying much was just the tip of the iceberg. In fact, after over an hour of trying to get information out of Natalie, they'd learned very little. Then her father showed up, demanding that they leave her alone. It was nearly five while they sat in the car, discussing their notes. The only thing Natalie had given them was the fact that she'd been at the library all day working on her thesis. She hadn't seen anyone out of the ordinary. No one strange had bothered her. There hadn't been anyone watching her. She was sure that she didn't know the rapist; however, the thing that had caught the detectives' attention was that she reported the rapist knew her name.

Rather than returning to the precinct, Elliot drove to her door and let the ride serve as his apology. "We'll hit up the library first thing tomorrow."

Checking her watch, Olivia's first instinct was to start the investigation. "It's early. We can check it out now. Besides, you have to take the cruiser back."

"I'll take care of it. You better go get ready for Dr. Phil."

After a day of squinting at her computer and using coffee to keep her from passing out, she knew she could use a nice hot shower to revive her. But she was leery of anything that might start the next day off on the wrong note – something like Elliot having to take the car back on his own so she'd have time to prepare for her date.

Except he didn't seem angry anymore and the offer seemed genuine. "You're sure?"

He nodded. "You bring me coffee tomorrow and we're square."

With a wide smile she climbed out of the car. "Night, Stabler."

He rolled down the window and called out as she crossed the street. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She turned back and grinned. "Oh, come on, that's the whole point!"

True to form, he waited until after the door closed behind her before he pulled away.


	2. Day Two, part 1

_Unknown Day_

_Shivering from the cold, she pulled her knees into her chest, wishing it had been one of those mornings when she pulled on an extra layer beneath her cotton dress pants. Of course, she consoled herself with the thought that no one really sets out to be kidnapped in the morning. Her arms were handcuffed above her, as they were the whole time he'd been holding her. But at least he'd removed the blindfold. _

_The room was a dull, cinderblock gray. The hard cement floor offered nothing in the way of comfort, pushing unmercifully against her tailbone as she tried to shift in such a way that might keep her warm and prevent bruises on her ass. It took a long moment for her to realize the stupidity of her thought. She'd been kidnapped and was held prisoner with her mouth gagged and her hands cuffed to the wall. Bruises were hardly going to be her biggest worry._

_She needed to go to the bathroom and she was terribly thirsty, but the prick's obnoxious face stayed fresh in her mind, especially his smile when he'd told her to ring the bell if she needed anything. Spitting in his face hadn't even given her the pleasure of seeing him angry. He'd only wiped the spit from his cheek and smiled, telling her he'd be back when she was in the mood to talk. Comfort be damned, she'd die before she touched that fucking buzzer._

_Looking around distracted her from the pressing physical issues. There were two windows, high on the wall of the room she occupied, at either end of the side she was chained to. Too high and too filthy for her to see anything. There were water stains around the windows and she recognized the distinct smell of mildew. She filed it away in the back of her head, to keep in mind if she got the chance. She guessed she was in a basement somewhere. High as the windows were, they were probably within reach of her outstretched arms if she were standing under them. And she knew she had the strength, if she had even a moment unlocked, to pull herself to freedom. Once she got out of the room, she could run like hell, screaming all the way._

_The thing that really got to her, crawled under her skin and festered like an infected blister, was the toilet. It was located against the opposite wall, about ten feet from her. The plumbing was new, the shine still obvious in the low light. As much as she kind of wished she could get to it, she resented it. The son of a bitch had plumbing installed. Whether for her or some other unwitting victim, it didn't matter. It nauseated her._

_The idea that the intention was for her to stay there long enough to need a bathroom didn't sit well with her. Not that being kidnapped sat well with her. But she knew her partner, asshole that he was, would notice she was missing. It had been late when he'd grabbed her, her normally attentive paranoia waning in the face of being so near sleep after a shitty day. And it had been an incredibly shitty day, in all probability, the worst she'd ever faced, and that had been before she'd been kidnapped. She'd been on her way home, not actually sure if she was ever returning to the precinct again. But she promised herself that Elliot would notice her absence the next morning._

_By the following day, at least._

_But remembering the events of the day made her wonder if he would ever expect to see her again. _

_And that was what finally made her give in to the tears, knowing that the only person who might notice she was missing was the last person who ever wanted to see her again. _

_Because she'd enjoyed what he'd done to her. Because he'd known it. Because it disgusted him._

_Maybe this was her punishment for being a sick, perverted, gross person so desperate for love that she had no pride, felt no shame, was willing to sink into a bottomless pit of physical release. _

_It was just as well that he would never come looking for her. She could never face him again anyway._

Day Two

Olivia had never felt quite so pathetic in her life. She'd just had the most fantastic dinner she'd ever eaten in her life at the most unbelievably swanky restaurant she'd ever seen. And there she was, asking the hostess if she could use a phone. Because she didn't have change for the pay phone. Because she didn't have her cell phone. Because her cell phone was in her purse, along with her badge, gun, wallet, and favorite lipstick, which was hightailing it down I-95 at 80 miles an hour without her.

Because when the son of a bitch had hit her, she got out of the car without it.

After she'd broken his nose, of course.

And damn it, if her hand didn't hurt.

It was only a few minutes after midnight and she was already to call the day a complete disaster.

And the hostess, naturally, couldn't quite fathom what the problem was and had never been faced with a woman sporting a rapidly swelling cheek asking for a phone.

When the girl volunteered to use the restaurant phone to call the police, Olivia gave up. She retreated to the pay phone, located in the echoing hallway outside the bathrooms, to call Elliot collect. He was going to kill her. And that was ok. Just so long as he picked her up.

"Stabler."

Olivia cringed when the recording began speaking, not sure whether or not to be thankful that it left her in silence, pending his answer. She hadn't tried calling anyone collect in fifteen years, so she wasn't sure what to make of the series of clicks and buzzes and static.

"El?"

"What's going on?" Of course he knew something was up. She was calling him collect from a pay phone.

Crossing her fingers that the number was blocked from his caller ID, she tried to keep herself from giving away that she was seething with anger. Elliot might not come to get her if he knew she was liable to go off on him simply because he was there. But before she could even figure out how to ask, she heard the wail of a baby in the background and a muffled curse.

"I just got him to sleep, Liv, so this had better be good."

She cringed, realizing that it was his week with Eli and knowing that his bad mood was going to come back. But it wasn't like she had a choice. "Can you come get me?"

The wailing got louder and Elliot's voice softer as he picked up and tried to soothe his young son. "Seriously, Liv, can't you call Phil?"

She took a deep breath, wanting to scream when the bathroom door opened and drowned the hallway in a series of echoing toilet flushes. "We had a fight."

The wailing paused, but only long enough for the baby to get in a full breath. "Where the hell are you?"

"Does that mean you'll come get me?" She wanted to be embarrassed that she was so hopeful, but she was too desperate for such an indulgence. She had no one else to call.

"Are you in the bathroom?" He sounded pissed off, but she couldn't complain. She'd be pissed off too if she had to listen to a wailing baby all night.

"I'm outside of one."

"You're both adults, Liv, I'm sure Phil will take you home even if you're fighting."

She closed her eyes and wished for once that she hadn't done such a good job of convincing everyone around her that she could take care of herself. Had she appeared weaker, Phil might have felt worse for leaving her and Elliot might have been willing to pick her up without a fight.

"He already left." She kind of wanted to smack her forehead into the wall, but her head hurt from the blow and she had no desire to make it worse. "Please?"

"Aren't there any cabs?" There were noises in the background and she hoped he was getting ready to leave.

"I don't think they have cabs up here." Getting him to even think about picking her up was hard enough; she really wasn't looking forward to explaining that she was an hour away from the city.

"Up here? Where the hell are you?"

"New Haven."

The silence was so long she thought the phone had gone dead.

"El?"

"Connecticut?" He took a long, loud deep breath. "You want me to drive up to New fucking Haven with Eli at this hour?"

She said nothing. She was close to tears, not from Elliot's anger, but from the situation. She'd trusted Phil. He'd seemed like a nice guy. If a guy who would hit her and then abandon her over an hour away from home seemed nice to her, she needed serious help. She fought to control her voice, not sure she was doing a good job of it. "Please, El, I don't have anyone else to call."

"All right, give me the address."

Once she'd given it to him, started to feel even guiltier for ruining his night. "I really appreciate this, El."

"You're not going to. I'm going to kill you when I get there."

"Well, I'll be here."

"Never mind, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to kill Phil."

Olivia smiled, a real smile. "I'll help you hide the body."

"I'm on my way. Try not to wander any further away if you can."

She didn't get a chance to pledge her undying gratefulness before the dial tone sounded in her ear. He was irritated, with good reason, but he hadn't seemed too angry. Not with him agreeing to come get her. Then again, he knew she didn't have anyone else to call and he'd probably let her know how unhappy he was with her lack of friends. She could hardly blame him. She wasn't too happy about it herself.


	3. Day Two, part 2

_Unknown Day_

_She was going insane. For a brief moment, she thought that questioning her sanity was a good sign, but she dismissed it just as quickly. She was lonely. Kidnappees were not supposed to list lonely as one of their problems. But her arms, starting from the shoulders all the way to the tips of her fingers, had long since gone numb, which was a merciful change from the pain of her strained shoulders. Her body was bruised, mostly from her struggles against the unyielding brick and steel binding her, partly from her struggles against the captor who by all rights shouldn't have been able to overpower her._

_But it had been days since she'd eaten, having refused everything he'd offered her. And she'd only had a few sips of water, ingested only out of desperation. She was so cold that her body shivered continuously, burning calories she didn't have to waste. At first, she'd wondered if she'd lose weight, perhaps enough to spoil herself with a huge slice of German chocolate cake from that bakery Elliot occasionally brought her breakfast from._

_But those thoughts were gone, replaced with the simple fear that she wouldn't stay sane long enough for survival to matter. She had no sense of time, but it seemed that the captor had been gone for far too long, that perhaps he'd forgotten her, that maybe he had only wanted to kill her, that he could be stupidly waiting for some sort of ransom no one would ever pay for her._

_No matter the cause, she missed human contact. Hell, she would have been happy to see a damn stray dog even. It was just her and a dark, empty room with a perpetually damp floor. She shook and cried and choked._

_She tried to calm herself down. She remembered how soldiers in captivity repeated their name, rank, and serial number endlessly. Unable to speak, she tried thinking her name over and over, adding in detective and her badge number. But the more times she thought of herself as a detective, the more she realized that hardly fit her any longer. And telling herself over and over again that she was a victim wasn't going to soothe her. _

_So she moved on to the alphabet. What had seemed initially like a stroke of genius, a simple way for her to stay grounded and focused, proved to be the last straw. Because she only got as far as f before she got distracted, thinking she heard the sound of someone approaching. She concentrated on that for a long, long time, ears straining to hear the sound of the door, located well out of sight in a dark corner. She got so excited over the prospect that he was returning, that she wasn't going to die alone and naked from the waist down chained to a wall, that she forgot about the alphabet._

_She could practically see the crime scene photos, spread across Elliot's desk. Her body, perhaps so badly decomposed that they wouldn't even know it was her at first. They'd remark at her handcuffed wrists, perhaps realizing they were department issue, maybe trying to chase down the serial number to see who had purchased them. Then they'd discuss how it was too late to hope for DNA from a rape kit, but that a woman found bound and gagged wearing only a shirt was likely the victim of sexual assault. She wondered if, through some miracle, that the cold preserved the DNA, that the crime lab would happily report that they could identify both the victim and the rapist._

_She wondered if Elliot would be sad to hear that the skeleton in the pictures had belonged to his partner, to a woman he'd once felt enough for to fuck._

_She wondered what would happen to him when they realized that DNA was his._

_It made her hope they would never find her. She wouldn't want anyone to question him, to think that he was capable of such a thing. And she feared they would because they'd all seen them fighting, they'd all seen her storm out of the precinct that day, they'd all heard her say for him to go fuck himself, they'd all heard him tell her to drop dead. It would be so inconvenient for them to find her dead with his semen inside her._

_She snorted with irrational laughter. Some detective she was. Her abused body would be his last case, the physical evidence putting an innocent man behind bars, her final act would be to discredit her partner and all the work they'd ever done, probably even get their captain forced into early retirement from the shame._

_She would never claim to be the glue that held them all together, but she could certainly prove to be the wedge that drove them apart. It wasn't an honor she wanted._

Day Two, cont'd

Just over an hour after he'd hung up in her ear, Olivia saw the dark outline of his car turning into the parking lot. She'd grown tired of the endless stare of the hostess and had been sitting on the curb, ruining her dress, for most of the hour. At least he hadn't paid a bit of attention to the speed limit in order to get her faster. The thought made her smile.

He pulled to a stop a few feet from her, his narrowed eyes glaring at her during her approach. Her smile faded as she pulled open the door. For the briefest instant, she missed Phil's gleaming new Mercedes and the pristine floor mats. She shook her head and ignored the thought while she kicked aside soda cans and fast food wrappers and newspaper and who knew what else.

She only turned halfway toward him, being sure to keep the right, swollen side of her face from his view. "Thanks, El."

He barely waited for her to get the door shut before he peeled out, leaving what Olivia was sure was a good portion of his tires behind. "You owe me." That was all he had to say. Not a word about her jerk of an ex. Not a bit of a kind word for her mortification. Not anything to indicate that it was ok for her to call him in an emergency.

"Yeah, I owe you one." She glanced at him, noticing the way his face was drawn tight from the creases at the sides of his eyes. He was looking to explode and she hoped it wouldn't be at her.

"No, you don't owe me one. The number you owe me is incalculable. You can do me favors for the rest of our natural lives and we might break even when we're dead."

At least with the way he was pressing the accelerator to the floor the trip would be shorter. She kept her eyes straight ahead, wishing she knew what had him so mad so she would have an idea of what to say. Or what not to say.

She needed to break the silence after ten minutes. It was getting to her. "You got Eli back to sleep." There hadn't been a peep from the car seat behind her.

And naturally, that was the wrong thing to say. "Of course he's asleep. He's a baby and it's the middle of the fucking night."

She ignored his mood and continued trying to get a conversation going. To hell with conversation; she'd settle for any sort of dialogue, just so she didn't have to hear herself think. "A few months ago, he was up around the clock, right?"

His eyes turned from the road, disturbing Olivia based on the sheer rate of speed, and he glared at her. "You know, Kathy and I have a meeting with the lawyers about custody at eight. And I'm going to walk in there half asleep with a baby who didn't get any sleep because my partner has bad taste in men and apparently doesn't have any friends either." She opened her mouth to apologize as her hand instinctively squeezed the armrest in response to Elliot's sudden jerking of the wheel to pass another car. But she didn't get the chance to apologize again. "I could lose him. I'm in enough shit for the hours I work, you know. I could lose visitation over this bullshit."

Like he needed to remind her of all the reasons she'd given him as to why she'd been deemed unfit to be a mother. He'd been so nice to her then, so sweet, that she couldn't even reconcile the memory with the thoughtless man he'd become. She wished he'd told her about the trouble he was having with Kathy so she could have counseled him to stay married. The man was an asshole without a wife. Or maybe, when he was married, he simply took the shit out on Kathy. Either way, it worked out better for her.

Hanging her head in guilt and shame, she dared to glance his way. His anger was directed out the windshield again and she decided not to bother. He wasn't going to talk. Instead, she turned her head and stared out the window, willing her psyche to leave her alone until she got home.

Several close calls with the principles of physics later, Elliot pulled to a stop outside her building for the second time since they'd left work. She'd expected his fury was still in place and she prayed her arm wouldn't get caught in the seatbelt before he floored it. But rather than revving the engine to hasten her departure, he turned off the ignition and put the keys in his pocket.

"Can I get some coffee? I'm half asleep." His apartment wasn't really that far and she wasn't sure why he would chance waking Eli, but she didn't bother to try to dissuade him.

"Yeah, sure. Do you want me to bring it down?"

Before she'd even finished speaking, he was getting out, walking around the car, unhooking the baby seat. Confused and exhausted, she led the way into her building. She started up the coffee maker before she even bothered to kick off her shoes. Anything to keep him from snapping at her and declaring that she was trying to keep him there longer. She desperately wanted to change into sweats, but she didn't dare take the time. Instead she stared at the machine, waiting with a mug in hand for it to finish.

Elliot was sitting on the edge of her couch, leaning over Eli's carrier, smiling warmly at the sleeping baby. He turned toward her as she made her way into the room and reached for the coffee. "Thanks." She mentally counted mood swing 1172 for the day and sighed.

She sat down beside him, unsure of what she was supposed to do. She could only watch as Eli's eyes opened to stare up at his father. Before he could start to cry, Elliot had him lifted up, cuddling the tiny creature against his broad chest, shushing him gently. And for the moment, Olivia was glad for the events of the evening because she was seeing a side of Elliot she never would have believed existed. Eli settled back to sleep quickly, snuggled in the crook of his father's arm. With a rueful smile, Olivia figured that was probably quite a nice place to be, provided he wasn't pissed off.

Busy staring at the baby, she didn't notice that Elliot's eyes had turned on her. But she noticed the gasp he let out. "Jesus Christ." His free hand reached out, turned her chin toward him, sizing up her bruised face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She didn't know what to say. She didn't even know if he was still mad at her. But he stood up, taking Eli into the other room, leaving Olivia to wonder what he was doing. He returned with a bag of frozen peas, sitting down close beside her to press them against her cheek. She kept her eyes turned away, fearing she was about to cry again.

"Where the hell do you find these pricks?"

She tried to smile, telling herself that just because Elliot didn't believe in hitting women didn't mean he was particularly concerned with her. "All the good ones are married." She shrugged and spoke before she thought better of it. "Or in the middle of a divorce." Embarrassed by her own admission, she took the bag from his hand and sat back to hold it for herself. "I'm pretty sure I broke his nose."

Elliot was grinning when he reached for her hand to inspect it. A dark blue bruise had formed across her knuckles. "I'd say so." He met her eyes. "Good for you."

"Probably should have waited until he brought me home, huh?"

Settling back beside her, Elliot shifted Eli around to rest on his lap. "I wouldn't have been such a jerk if you'd told me."

She needed to lighten up the topic because it was a little too uncomfortable, especially with someone who was always changing his mind regarding whether he liked her or not. "You're always a jerk."

"Hey, I thought I was one of the good ones."

She laughed, grateful that he wasn't going to press the comment she'd made into an issue. "When you're not being a jerk."

With the lack of conversation finally comfortable, Elliot switched on the television. They watched the re-broadcast of the regular news, interrupted by Eli's occasional consciousness. Watching the gentleness with which Elliot comforted his son, Olivia wanted to scream for the injustice of it all.

"Would she really take him from you?"

Elliot's eyes remained fixed on his son as he nodded. "There wouldn't be lawyers involved otherwise."

"But how can she do that?" She didn't understand how anyone who'd ever seen Elliot so loving and attentive could want to take the baby away from him. She couldn't imagine a better father.

Elliot shrugged, holding Eli's tiny hand in two of his fingers. "Divorces make people crazy, Liv."

"I thought you loved each other." Olivia had never been in love, but she had loved people. Regardless of their relationship, she'd loved her mother fiercely, tried to protect her from her misery, because her mother had chosen to have her and keep her and tried so hard to love her. She'd loved her grandparents for the fact that they gave her two weeks every summer until they died to be away from her mother and the drinking and never once mentioned that they didn't understand or support Serena's choice to keep her. And she loved Elliot, loved him with everything she had because he was the only person she'd met in her life that hadn't left her yet. She would have traded her life for any of them without hesitation.

Love, real love, wasn't supposed to stop.

Elliot's eyes turned to her, confusion slowly giving way to pity. "Haven't you ever been in love?"

She looked away, blinking back tears as she realized that maybe she had been in love. Except that, in keeping with her definition of real love, it wasn't in the past tense. She couldn't look at him. "Yeah, I have."

"Then you know how it goes. Things change." He sounded like he didn't quite believe her and she couldn't blame him. It was news to her too.

"But I don't hate him." She looked up, finding his eyes waiting for her. "I could never hate him."

His hand found her unmarked cheek, his thumb sliding gently across the skin. "Then he's a lucky man."

Frightened by the intensity of the moment, she turned away. "He probably wouldn't think so." Her eyes locked on the tv and stayed there, not wavering until after the credits rolled. When she dared to look back, Elliot was sound asleep. Very carefully, so as not to wake him, she nudged him until he lay down. Eli was cradled between Elliot and the back of the couch, so she threw a blanket over them and let them sleep.


	4. Day Two, part 3

_Unknown Day_

_She kept hearing noises, scratchy, threatening noises, noises that told her she was about to be eaten alive by rats. She'd never had a fear of rats. Born and raised in New York City, she'd seen rats all of her life, in the halls of shitty apartments, eating out of the huge piles of trash on the street. As a toddler, her mother had delighted her friends with the tale that her daughter was so stupid she thought rats were cute._

_But facing the frightening idea that she was left helpless and alone with rats, she developed a sudden and irreversible phobia of rats._

_The never-ending terror that plagued her as she imagined sharp, dirty fangs pressing through her flesh wasn't even the biggest emotional problem she was having._

_No, that was the hideous feeling of rejection. Rejection never felt good and Olivia had developed an over-cautious approach to avoiding it. Whenever she suspected it was coming, and it was always coming eventually, she ran first. Her dating history got worse and worse as time progressed because no matter how happy or promising the relationship seemed to be, she anticipated the impending pain of being rejected and she avoided it at all costs. And she was dumb enough to be proud in some respect, of the number of men out there who were completely baffled as to why she'd bailed on them. Because it was better to screw someone over before they had the chance to screw her over._

_Yeah, a lot of her "relationships" didn't last beyond a first date. Which was fine, because one date sure as hell wasn't enough for her to get hurt._

_Except that, despite her careful planning, she'd made tactical errors. Because she'd managed to get one-upped by Elliot. Hell, he'd banged her and dumped her before they even had a first date. She'd never expected anyone would be faster to scuttle a ship than her. Her thoughts, when she could think beyond the overwhelming pain of imaginary rat bites and overblown fear of impending rat consumption, centered around how she'd managed to screw up things with Elliot. She wanted to blame it on the fuck, but that had been all him. He'd thought of it, he'd started it, he'd taken what he'd wanted, and he'd left. No man would argue with that. So that couldn't have been it. And there clearly had to be something, since he'd obviously abandoned her to be gnawed to death by rodents rather than having to come to her aid._

_It had to have been the kiss, she decided. The magical, glorious, searing kiss. The only one they'd ever shared. She'd been so blown away by it that she hadn't realized it was rejection worthy. Maybe that was the problem, maybe she'd been far too enthralled, far too eager. Maybe she just wasn't a good kisser. She wanted to wish it had never happened, so that she wouldn't know what it was like to have been dumped by the only man she'd ever loved, but she couldn't. She'd enjoyed it so much. She'd forever cherish that memory._

_Even if forever was about to be brought on by a pack of rabid, plague-carrying rats._

_And fuck, if being rejected by Elliot wasn't bad enough, she'd screwed up royally._

_Because even her fucking kidnapper had dumped her. She hadn't realized it was possible to be so revolting as to be abandoned by some freak who'd gone to the trouble of kidnapping her in the first place. As much as she hated the disgusting, perverted slimeball who insisted on calling her Maggie while he was holding her, she didn't want to be the one left behind._

_Maybe he'd found someone better. Someone who hadn't cried too much. Someone who hadn't disobeyed him. Someone who hadn't wet her pants._

_Sniffling, Olivia thought about hitting the buzzer, trying to summon him. But she didn't. Because he'd always come when she'd done so and she knew he'd been gone too long and she didn't want to face the terrifying truth of knowing that he wasn't coming back. She dropped her head to her chest and sobbed, letting out a keening wail of despair as she choked on the rag in her mouth._

Day Two, cont'd

Elliot's comment the previous afternoon regarding her caffeine intake proved to be accurate. She tried to get some sleep, however, it was already well into the early morning and she knew she wouldn't be getting any decent rest. Mostly, she only rested physically, letting her eyes close and her body relax. She was back up a few minutes after five, pulling on a tee-shirt and shorts for a run.

She'd almost totally forgotten about the guests on her couch until she walked past. Eli was awake, squirming and wiggling. Elliot was still out cold, snoring lightly, so Olivia scooped the baby into her arms, shushing him and slinging the baby bag over her shoulder. Relocated to the kitchen, she fished a bottle out of the side pocket and found a can of formula inside. She read the directions, half to herself, half to Eli.

"Doesn't look so hard, think I can handle it?" She grinned when Eli bounced gleefully in her arms. She suspected he'd grown tired of being ignored by his sleeping father and had been moments away from waking him with a yell. An odd smell coming from the vicinity of her arm distracted her from Eli's breakfast and she turned on the baby with a quirked eyebrow. "Is that you, stinky boy?" She took his gurgle as a confession.

The baby bag was nothing if not complete and Olivia had no trouble finding the mat, the wipes, and the extra diapers. Knowing that Elliot was a light sleeper, she decided to stay in the kitchen, spreading the changing mat out on the floor. "I guess I can handle this, buddy." Leaning down, she laid him on his back and wasn't quite able to resist the urge to rub her nose playfully against his. "Don't tell you daddy if I fuck it up, ok?"

Eli waved his arms around, which she took as an agreement. No matter how much she wanted one, Olivia had very little experience with babies and absolutely none without a parent looking on. But she figured three-year-olds could handle changing their dolls' diapers, she could deal with one happy, cooperative baby.

Having no experience with babies, she was completely unprepared for the surprise waiting. The moment she pulled the tabs loose, Eli giggled, starting up a lovely fountain of pee which very nearly hit her right in the face.

Having very narrowly avoided that mishap, she chuckled at herself and the baby she strongly suspected was laughing at her. "Oh, yeah, kid, that's just charming." The rest of the job was straight forward, although as she attempted to secure the diaper, she realized keeping a baby still enough to fasten it securely was quite a bit more complicated than she'd first guessed.

Finally, she succeeded and lifted Eli back to her chest while she contemplated the diaper. "This is not staying in here." She quietly crept through the living room, silently begging Eli not to start crying while she made her way to the trash shoot.

Once that bit of work was accomplished, Eli was starting to fuss and squirm. Olivia hurried to prepare the bottle, gently rocking him to keep him quiet while it heated. "Shhh, honey, don't wake your daddy." Eli's hand smacked against her face and she happily blew a raspberry against it, not expecting the squeal of delight. "No, no, buddy, you have to be quiet. Your daddy is Mr. Grouchy pants when he doesn't get enough sleep." She adored the baby, especially the clear blue eyes he'd inherited from his father and the intense, fascinated way they locked on her whenever she spoke, another trait she'd seen before. "We don't want to talk to Mr. Grouchy pants, do we?" Eli slapped his pudgy hands together, trying to bounce in her arms, following the motion that nearly broke him free of Olivia's grasp with another string of excited and rather loud sounds. She shook her head, giggling along with Eli. "I think you're undermining my authority here." Eli continued to giggle and throw his arms around. "What are you so excited about anyway, buddy? The sun isn't up yet. Humans should be sleeping."

"Humans like Mr. Grouchy Pants?" The unexpected, gravelly voice startled her so much she nearly dropped the baby.

She turned around, feeling a blush burning her cheeks for being caught saying ridiculous things. She looked back at Eli. "So that's what's got you all happy, huh? You like Mr. Grouchy pants." Eli reached out for his father, transitioning happily into the arms of someone he recognized. But she couldn't stop herself from leaning in, bumping her nose against Eli's once again. "He does kind of grow on you, doesn't he?"

Eli's little hand reached out, twisting around a lock of her hair, and tried to pull it into his mouth. She turned her head, letting him win to alleviate the sharp pain from her scalp.

And in so doing, she realized that her face was actually in contact with Elliot's chest. His bare chest.

Where the hell had his shirt gone?

And, more importantly, Olivia wondered if he would know the difference between his son's drool that was in her hair and her own, which she suspected was trailing out of her mouth. She inhaled deeply, giving herself one long, delectable breath of his undeniably sexy scent. She cursed pheromones as she straightened up and her own body for reacting to them.

"Had I known you were going to try and kidnap my son, I would have given you a heads up about the hair pulling." Elliot's tone revealed the complete absence of Mr. Grouchy pants and Olivia hoped that had something to do with the fact that he'd discovered her caring for his youngest child. "Of course, I hadn't planned on a sleepover either."

Trying to avoid the discomfort of facing Elliot when she was still reeling from contact with his skin, she turned to the microwave to retrieve the warm bottle and tested it against her wrist. "I think that's ok."

Rather than pouring out some more, as she'd figured he'd do, Elliot quite unexpectedly ran his thumb over Olivia's wrist, rubbing the remainder of the formula from her skin. "Yeah, that's fine." Then he nonchalantly offered the bottle to Eli while Olivia tried to compose herself.

After the way he'd behaved for several months, she couldn't quite grasp the concept that he was coming on to her. But really, she couldn't find any other reason for him to touch her like that. Panic started to overwhelm her and she wanted to run. Luckily, she was dressed for it.

"I was going to go for a run and wake you when I got back."

He nodded, looking around the kitchen for something he couldn't find. "What time is it?"

She pointed at the microwave, displaying 5:20 in neon green lights. "Plenty early. I wouldn't have let you be late."

"Thanks for letting me stay. I don't know how I would have made it home last night." Although his words were directed at her, his face and voice were for Eli's benefit. He was cradled against his father's chest, sucking down his breakfast.

Olivia thought she might faint. She reached out to rest her hand on the counter just in case. Elliot's body was a sight to behold and she never missed a chance to drink it in, marveling at the product of his intense workouts. But there was something so much more powerful before her, his amazing, hard body, cuddling his son so gently. His normally sharp stare and hard features seemed to take on a tender quality, revealing his pure, unadulterated love for Eli.

For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself the indulgence of wondering what it would be like to live that life, to have Elliot as her husband, to love a precious baby with him, to share a bit of that phenomenal love she saw pouring out of the man she'd thought she knew so well. She'd come to terms with her desire for a child, accepted it as an instinct, but she'd never really wanted a husband, never thought she'd care to be so entangled with someone. It was hard at her age to understand she desperately wanted something she probably could have easily attained had she only realized it sooner.

Still somewhat shaky, Olivia decided she needed to get far, far away from her partner before she jumped him, baby and all. Being jumped by his partner was probably not a legitimate reason for the cradle to fall, she figured, certainly not in the eyes of the legal professionals Elliot would be facing in a few hours. "I should get going. You can let yourself out."

He moved in front of her, angling his head toward Eli. "Can I trouble you for some coffee? He likes to be held until he's done with breakfast."

"No problem." She hadn't thought her voice would give away her emotions so clearly and hated that the hoarse sound merited a concerned glance from Elliot. She faked a cough as she dumped the leftover from the night before and set a fresh pot brewing. It didn't take long, not with the way she removed the pot and put his mug directly under the filter. Her body and mind were threatening mutiny and she thought it would be best to get Elliot and Eli away from her before she decided to chain them up in her apartment and keep them as her own. Dumping in enough sugar to make taffy, she handed Elliot his mug and thought about telling him to take it with him.

But that would be rude, so she didn't say anything. He passed Eli to her as he took the mug, amusing her when he took one sip before reaching for more sugar. She concentrated on Eli, trying to focus on him rather than her newly rekindled desperation for a baby of her own. He finished before Elliot did, returning to his attempts to suck on her hair.

And then in a flash, before Olivia had a chance to recognize the distress on Eli's face, there was a burp and a stream of wet, sticky, disgusting smelling white ooze dripping down her shoulder.

"Ugh!" She stretched out her arms, instinctively keeping Eli from his own spit up, shaking her head at him while Elliot laughed. "Yup, we've got another charming Stabler here."

"Hey, I never puked on you." Elliot set his mug down, accepting Eli back into his arms as Olivia pulled her shirt over her head.

She heard his voice on her way to get another shirt, his goofy, baby talk voice, telling Eli that was exactly why Mr. Grouchy pants didn't wear shirts at breakfast time.

"You could have warned me." She wasn't really mad, in fact, she was slightly pleased she'd had the momentary chance to torture Elliot, if it had even worked, when she peeled her shirt off and stood before him in a sports bra. Although she hadn't gotten to enjoy it, she was hopeful that the shirtless pheromone tricked worked in reverse.

Elliot was settling Eli back in his carrier when she returned. She spotted his shirt lying across the back of the couch and handed it to him, taking the forgotten mug from the previous night from him in exchange. She dropped it in the sink, along with the new one, sighing as she glanced at the clock. Her run was getting cut short, but she wasn't too upset. Not as long as Elliot was in a decent mood.

Eli was tucked back in and Elliot's shirt was in place when he followed her. He set Eli on the counter, giving Olivia another chance to nuzzle him.

"Mr. Grouchy pants is stealing you, buddy. Tell him you want to stay here."

As if he understood, Eli reached out and made a grab for Olivia's hair.

Elliot smiled at her. "He likes you. You should see him when Maureen talks to him. He screams like he's being murdered."

She turned to touch Eli's soft skin one more time. "Maybe he remembers me. I was the first one to hold him."

"Could be. Kathy does like to remind me that, unlike me, you've actually witnessed the birth of one of my kids."

With her finger trapped in Eli's slobbery fist, Olivia laughed. "Mr. Grouchy pants a.k.a. Mr. Reliable."

"Hey, I was Mr. Reliable last night, wasn't I?"

She turned back to face him and he was right there, way too close, his fingers playing along her chin, gently brushing the sore flesh of her cheek. She couldn't breathe because she knew his shirt wasn't doing anything to muffle the scent, the one that threatened to make her turn into a puddle at his feet.

"How's it feeling?"

She tried to smile, wishing he would stop touching her so she could think. "Like I got punched in the face." She looked at the clock, no longer quite able to make sense of the numbers. "You should probably get moving, huh?"

"In a minute."

He was stalling. Obviously. Even if he had wanted coffee, the coffee was gone. He was still there. Eli was packed. Elliot was dressed. And yet, there he was, in her space, his fingers on her skin, his body so close to hers.

Where the hell had the jerk from the previous day gone?

She let out a shaky breath, finally meeting his eyes. She was shaking, she realized, and with his hand on her face, he had to know it. And then he stepped closer, his head leaning in the opposite direction, his chin jutting forward.

There was one heart-stopping moment as she recognized the choreography, the position of his head, the lowered gaze of his eyes, the motion of his other hand.

She could barely take in a breath before he connected with her, his face, his hand, his body, his lips, his tongue. He was taking advantage of her surprise, she knew. Normally a kiss, a first kiss, was light and hesitant, slow and careful, contact of just lips, maybe tongues, maybe hands. But his was not. His whole body was flush against hers, one hand holding her head in place, one holding her hips. His mouth was open, his lips demanding, his tongue certain. There was nothing unsure about his body language as he explored her mouth, stealing her breath, invading her space, branding her skin.

He'd wanted to do it for a long time. He'd had long enough to plan it, to know where exactly to put his hands, to be able to position himself so squarely in front of her, around her, inside her, that she would have no choice but to let him, to open herself up to him. The idea that he'd thought about it, that he wanted it enough to plan it, astounded her.

And she knew, from her undeniable, unavoidable, unquestionable response, that he was well aware of her feelings for him, the feelings she hadn't even realized until the previous night. It was scary to acknowledge that he knew her so well, that he could read her so easily. But it was comforting as well. Because he did know. Because he was kissing her anyway.

It made her love him even more.


	5. Day Two, part 4

_Unknown Day_

_He was staring at her, his eyes dark and hollow and empty. She wanted to cringe, feeling so exposed. Squeezing her legs together to keep something from his sight, she tried to look defiant. _

_He squatted down before her, smiling proudly. "I have a present for you, Maggie."_

_Defiance was hard found when sitting before someone without so much as underwear to hide behind. She could just tell, perhaps from the hideous gleam in his eyes, that his present would involve touching her and she wanted to vomit. She'd already suffered the humiliation of having him touch her, cleaning her the way he had. She fully expected to be raped, figured it was inevitable. She didn't have to cooperate too._

_Producing a bag from behind his back, he grinned harder. "This is for you. Want to open it?"_

_She wanted to spit in his face again, but sadly, she imagined that was where he got the idea for the gag. Instead she choked back the bile that rose in her throat at the sudden and unsettling thought he was going to produce a box of condoms._

_"Oh, right, I guess you can't. Sorry." His voice was light, as though he thought it was funny the reason she couldn't open her "gift" was because he'd handcuffed her to the wall. He reached into the bag and quickly withdrew his hand with some sadistic flourish. "Tada!"_

_He brandished the cloth in her face, thrusting it so close she turned her head. She didn't know what she was receiving, but she could smell perfume, lotion, something flowery, even over the moldy, stagnant stench that surrounded her._

_"I thought you'd at least smile, Maggie. I went through a lot of trouble to get these." _

_And then he was reaching for her ankles, yanking her legs straight, ignoring her flagging strength as she tried to keep her legs together. She moaned, groaned, mumbled, choked, believing her worst nightmare was coming to life. She had expected to be raped, she had, but she'd never imagined how truly unbearable the moment would be when it came upon her. Knowing it was only going to get worse, wishing she could die right then and there, she screamed as best she could with her mouth full._

_He had the panties up to her knees by the time she realized what he was doing. He was quite skilled at not noticing her feelings and he looked her, seeming completely ignorant of her obvious hysteria. "I knew you needed some and the pretty lady at the laundry had so many, I didn't think she'd mind sharing."_

_Utter humiliation took over for the sobbing as he pulled her hips off the ground and yanked the panties into place. She couldn't think about the fact that they were dirty or that they belonged to some stranger. She was just grateful to have herself covered somewhat._

_And then he raised his hands, doing something with the ring her hands were attached to. There was intense pain then, as he moved her arms, the same pain that struck every time he'd unhooked her to use the bathroom, from the length of time her arms had been raised. But she hadn't asked for the bathroom and she feared what was coming next._

_He eased her cuffed hands over his head, shimmying them past his shoulders, pressing her face thoughtlessly against his neck while he settled them around his thick middle. Then he pulled her gag loose, tearing the tender skin of her lips for the hundredth time._

_"You're safe now, Maggie. You can sleep."_

Day Two cont'd

They walked out together, Elliot's hands full with Eli and the diaper bag, Olivia inordinately fascinated with the controls on her iPod. He turned toward her to say goodbye; she smiled and offered a wave, pretending the music was already playing. He waved back with a smile and headed to his car as Olivia deliberately altered her route so as to run in the opposite direction from the one he would take. She needed time to herself to think. He'd had a chance to plan and she thought she deserved the chance to respond.

But as she tried to concentrate on the feel of her feet hitting the pavement and keeping her breathing even to avoid a cramp, all she could think of was how her lips felt as swollen and bruised as her cheek.

Except in a good way.

She grinned happily, letting the music drive her faster, enjoying the high of being thoroughly kissed by a man who would have won an award for it, had kissing been something for which people won awards.

Hell, he deserved one anyway. She'd had orgasms that were less pleasurable.

She still felt like she was floating hours later when she walked into the precinct. Elliot was going to be late, he'd already told her about the custody meeting, but it didn't stop her from looking at his desk, hoping irrationally that he would be there.

And magically, he was.

Her eyes darted to her watch as she slid into her seat. "What are you doing here?" She was grinning like a goof, just thinking that his tongue had been in her mouth. The thought made her face grow hot and she looked down, biting back a giggle. One kiss, one long, wet, hot, full-body contact kiss, and she'd been reduced to a giggling schoolgirl with a crush.

Luckily, Elliot was grinning too. "Got postponed. Kathy had to work."

"You seem happy about that." She kept telling herself to act normal, but the smile was more stubborn than she was.

"I am." He sat back in his seat, folding his arms, arms that had been around her that morning, across his chest. She shook her head to force her mind off that subject and onto what he was saying. "Makes me look better, according to the lawyer, since I arrived on time, with the baby in perfect health, and I didn't try to reschedule once. Kathy was almost twenty minutes late by the time she called. You know, after twenty-three years of marriage, it's nice to not be the irresponsible one for once."

Rolling her eyes, she felt she had to side with Kathy, as per the rules of female solidarity. "It's probably the first time in twenty-three years of marriage that you weren't."

He shrugged, eventually offering her a reluctant nod and gesturing at the case file he'd started the night before, after he'd dropped her off for her infamous date. "So, Natalie's library?"

Wincing, Olivia's eyes darted to Cragen's office. She was hoping he wasn't in yet, but it was ridiculous to even think it, since she was pretty sure he really did use that cot. She couldn't recall more than a handful of times in a decade the older man hadn't been at his desk. "I need to talk to the cap first."

Elliot's eyes widened and his jaw fell open, revealing terror for only an instant. He immediately played it down, although his voice nearly cracked when he voiced his concern. "Not over-"

She started to laugh, the absurdity of him thinking she was going to run to tell the boss about their kiss. Like hell, she thought. She might never let that man with those talented lips out of her sight again. "No, El, don't have a heart attack."

A blush crept into his cheeks as he looked down, far more embarrassed than she would have expected considering how confident he'd been when he'd kissed her. "Then what is it?"

Her smiling face fell as movement caught her eye. There was Phil, being ushered into the room by a uniform. She was on her feet in a minute, ready for round two. "What the hell do you want?"

As if Olivia's bruised cheek hadn't garnered enough attention, her words and defensive posture did. Elliot was on his feet not quite a second after Liv, and Munch, Lake, and Fin all tensed to jump to her defense.

"Relax, Olivia. I came to return your purse." He dropped the black bag onto her desk with a thud. "Anything you had in there, I assure you, will be found exactly the way you left it. I didn't open it or steal anything."

She wanted to hit him again, but she refrained from it, snarling instead that he seemed to be rubbing her nose in the fact that he made as much in a day as she did in two weeks. Still, he'd brought it back to her before she'd had to admit to losing her badge and gun, so she was willing to let it go. Not to mention that his massively swollen nose and two ugly purple bruises under his eyes confirmed she'd done the damage she'd intended when her fist connected with his face.

Deciding to be civil, she nodded. "Thank you for returning it promptly." Her cold tone left him no room to think she might be amenable to a reconciliation, just in case he was waiting for one.

He reached down, pulling a folder from his briefcase and resting it on her desk. "In here, you'll find a copy of the emergency room bill for last night, a copy of the receipt for having my car detailed to remove the blood this morning, and I'll be forwarding the bill for my dry cleaning as soon as it's complete. I'll expect you to reimburse me for those as promptly."

She didn't even have time to pull her gun from her bag.

Elliot grabbed Phil's collar with his left hand, rearing his right hand back for a punch as he slammed Phil's back into the closest wall. Unfortunately, the closest wall was next to the door of Cragen's office. The captain, who'd noticed the posturing in the bullpen and was expecting to have to intervene, had the door open in a flash and had to hear the threat Elliot growled not a foot from his face.

"How'd you like a broken jaw to go with the broken nose? You'd be amazed how well my partner and I work together." Elliot was just itching to do it, because he always wanted to hit any man who touched Olivia, let alone one that dared hurt her.

Phil smiled cockily, glancing over Elliot's shoulder to smirk at Olivia. "Should have known she was screwing around, the little whore."

Even the presence of his boss wasn't enough to stop Elliot's fist from slamming into Phil's face. It took Fin and Lake to pull him back and even Cragen to step in front of him to keep him from delivering several additional blows. But none of them could keep him from glowering at doctor, who was once again dripping blood down the front of his suit.

"How about you get the fuck out of here and no one will charge you with assaulting a police officer?" He'd do it too, they all knew it.

Phil's eyes went back to Olivia. "You'll be paying to clean this one too."

Elliot surged forward again, putting up a hell of a fight for someone restrained by three men. "Get the fuck away from her and stay the fuck away from her or I swear to God I'll kill you."

Phil had the audacity to grin as he conspicuously checked the writing on Cragen's door. He nodded at Cragen. "Captain? I believe I was just threatened by one of your officers."

Cragen took a deep breath, looking at Olivia and noticing her marred face for the first time. Then he looked back at Phil and shrugged. "I didn't hear anything." He looked back at the three men who all looked ready to pounce. "Anyone else?"

The bullpen, which generally did a pathetic job of pretending not to be paying attention, shrugged or shook their heads as a chorus of 'no, sirs' filled the air.

Cragen smiled at Phil again. "I don't expect to see you back here unless you're the victim of a violent crime." As soon as a rather unhappy Phil turned on his heel and left, Cragen barked at everyone to go back to work. "Except you two. My office. Now."


	6. Day Two, part 5

_Unknown Day_

_She thought she'd gotten to know terror pretty well. She'd come to terms with her fears – the fear of rats, the fear of being raped, even her fear of being abandoned._

_Not that she really had much of a choice about it. She had no say in anything, not even in going to the bathroom, not anymore. She'd hit the button a hundred times, desperate for his attention. She missed him; she missed the contact._

_She just didn't want to be alone._

_Because it was a slap in the face. She'd complained all her life about being alone. She whined to anyone who would listen and ruminated on it when no one would. But she'd never truly learned the meaning of being alone – not until she faced so many hours in the dark, uncomfortable, lonely, fearing impending doom by rat._

_Of course, it didn't make her feel better about her life prior to captivity to find out that she might not have been alone before, not when she was then._

_There were noises. Terrible, terrible noises. Booms and bangs and crashes and shattering glass and muffled voices. It could have been a riot or a war or some out of control party. Whatever it was, it was horrible and close and it scared her. There were horrible, frightening people out there and she longed for the comforting embrace of her captor. She was afraid of what would happen if, when, they found her. She wanted the comfort of familiarity, her captor's face, her last constant that had been taken from her._

_In sheer terror, she began pressing the buzzer. Over and over and over again. She knew he would answer. Because he wouldn't leave her alone. Because he'd promised her everything would be ok and things were not ok without him there to protect her. Without him, she was helpless. Without him, she would have to face the hideous noises all alone._

_She pressed the buzzer until her fingers hurt._

_And then she pressed it some more._

Day Two, cont'd

The pair barely got the door closed behind them before Cragen began to speak, inquiring exactly what he'd just stepped into. In their standard approach, their eyes met, Elliot, as the lesser involved of the two, allowed Olivia to call the shots. It was her personal matter; it was her call as to how much the boss found out.

With a deep, indignant voice, she offered a brief overview – Phil's association with her, Phil's mistaking her for a punching bag, her correction of his error. She left out the desperate midnight call and Elliot's insane attempt to break the land speed record. There was no mention of him sleeping on her couch, nor of her bonding with his son.

And naturally, there was no reference whatsoever to the fact that they'd been tangling tongues that morning.

Cragen nodded as he listened, his jaw clenching at the appropriate details, his smile of appreciation for Elliot's behavior. As wrong as it had been, Phil's had been worse and Cragen wouldn't have stood for it himself, had he known more at the time. With a promise from Olivia that she would try not to date anymore jerks, Cragen sent her on her way.

Her eyes met Elliot's, thanking him and apologizing for the reaming out she suspected he was about to get. He had just lost control rather loudly in public. She allowed her sleeve to brush his in the tiniest hint of reassurance she could offer on her way out. It was all she could do for the time being to thank him for the amazing show of support.

The stares of her coworkers were heavy as she returned to her seat. She tried to ignore the looks, the obvious questions, turning on her computer and checking her voicemail. But her eyes kept returning to the open blinds of Cragen's office. She watched her partner move from his position when she'd left to one of the chairs. And then, suddenly, he was up, crossing the office, looking out at her as he froze.

His face was a mixture of hurt and pain and anguish and loss and despair and confusion.

And he was looking right at her.

Before she could react to the almost palpable waves of emotion rolling off her partner, he'd turned, his surging stride carrying him back to face Cragen, his broad shoulders leaning forward over Cragen's desk in a threatening stance. She almost pitied the man, knowing all too well how intimidating an angry Elliot could be.

His voice was loud, enraged, but nothing more than the obvious displeasure could be heard. Munch dropped a file in front of her, pretending to have a legitimate reason for talking to her. "What's going on?"

Baffled, Olivia looked up at the sergeant and shrugged. "I don't have a clue. I mean, I figured he'd get chewed out, but-"

Fin joined in, his anxious stare passing between the suddenly standing, red-faced Cragen and the typically insubordinate Elliot. "But he knew he went too far. He shouldn't be that pissed off."

Olivia felt guilty, assuming the exchange was entirely due to Phil's appearance. Seeing that Elliot was returning, flinging his boss' door open so hard it ricocheted back at him, she ducked her head, pretending to search for something in her drawer. Fin and Munch immediately disappeared back to their desks.

Hearing nothing beyond the approaching footsteps that had stopped, Olivia dared to look up. He was waiting for her to do just that, his eyes full of venom and hate. "You planning on doing any work today at all?" He snatched the file up from his desk and grabbed the keys to the sedan. "Let's go, Benson, we have work to do."

She stood up, taking time to fiddle with adjusting her jacket to try to get information from her partner. "What the hell happened?" Her voice was lowered so that only he would hear her, expecting that his mood was sheer fury for something he would allow her to share.

He glared at her, as though he couldn't believe she dared to speak to him. "What the hell do you think happened? Your fucking knight in shining armor happened."

For a moment, she paused, honestly unsure as to which of the assholes best fit the description. The pissed off, irrational Elliot was back, replacing the man who'd kissed her so sweetly. She hated pissed off, irrational Elliot and she spat words back at him, mostly to cover how hurt she was that he'd turned on her so easily. "You decided to threaten someone's life with a room full of witnesses. That's not my fault."

He snorted at her, trying to intimidate her the way he had with Cragen by leaning into her space. "Well, someone had to handle it."

She refused to give in to the instinct to back up and stood her ground. "I was handling it without resorting to physical violence."

"Like you handled it last night?" He'd raised his voice, knowing he'd gotten the attention of anyone who hadn't already noticed their quiet, angry words.

She made a grab for the keys, not ready for another ride with Dale Junior quite so soon. "Fuck you."

He was her partner and therefore knew her tells, yanking the hand dangling the keys away just as she was about to make contact. "Why do I have to fight your battles for you?"

She started walking then, infuriated by his insinuation. "You don't have to fight my battles. I never asked you to." She was already moving and had a good couple of feet on him, giving her a chance to think. The argument felt so strangely familiar, she was sure they'd had it before. And one thing she'd learned with Elliot and his moods was that there was a certain amount of predictability in them. Although she never knew when something would set him off, he'd react to it the exact same way any time he chose to fight it. If she could remember when he'd last challenged her ability to defend herself, she'd remember what had caused it. And if she remembered what caused it, she might have a clue what the real problem was.

By the time she got to the elevators, it hit her, the familiarity sending cold shivers through her. No wonder it felt the same. It may as well have been the same scene. The only time he'd truly suggested that he had to protect her, in fact had screamed it at her in the bullpen, had been during the Gitano case. After her life had been threatened. After, Elliot would later explain, coyly and half-assed in the hallway of a hospital, some bastard had threatened something he needed, something he considered his.

She glared at him while he jabbed his finger at the button repeatedly, as though her press of it hadn't been effective. She didn't like possessiveness. Possessiveness led to jealousy. And jealously led to her bruised, swollen face. Stepping in front of him, she fixed her narrowed gaze on him. "Why don't you just piss on my leg? It'll be a little less obvious to everyone else."

He looked at her with an open mouth and wide eyes. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"I'm not your property." She pushed two other detectives out of the way in her haste to get on the damn elevator.

He followed, still staring at her like he didn't understand. "What?"

She was no man's property and she was going to settle it right then and there. She stepped into him again, meeting his eyes with only inches between their bodies. "I don't belong to you."

The elevator doors were closing and a hand reached out, sliding between them. As the officer stepped forward, Elliot boldly reached out, shoving the man back and turning to face her as the doors closed, leaving them alone.

And then she was pinned against the wall of the elevator, the metal handrail jabbing her ass, as his body pressed fully against hers for the second time that day. She shoved at him, her hands flat and useless against his chest. He grabbed her wrists, forcing them back beside her head, forcing her to bend slightly backward over the rail. His eyes were dark and dangerous when they met hers, his mouth mere centimeters from hers.

"You do fucking belong to me, Olivia." To illustrate his point, or perhaps because he couldn't control it, his hips thrust hard, once, against her, making her fight to hold back her moan at the unexpected pleasure that washed over her at the unwelcome contact. "You're mine."

He was gone, off of her, just as quickly, already striding down the hall before she realized the damn doors had opened. So fast she couldn't even be sure it had happened. It might have all been in her head, the product of the stressful night and morning. Her feet were unsteady as she raced to catch up, refusing to let him see how badly he'd thrown her, even though he certainly already knew it. He was in the car with his seat belt buckled, turning the ignition when she finally caught up.

Half afraid he'd leave her there, half afraid she'd never see him again if he did, she struggled to hook her own seat belt when he floored it into traffic. His hands were tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched so hard she could see the veins popping out on his forehead. All that, whatever it was, and she had no clue what it was over.

"What happened in there?" She fought to keep her voice even and thought she did an admirable job of it.

But when his ice cold stare turned on her at a red light, she wasn't sure she should have spoken. "What the fuck, Liv?" He gunned the engine in impatience with the traffic light. "You fucking call him on your way in?"

"What? What are you talking about?" She wasn't sure if he really thought she'd called Phil or if he was just trying to set her off again.

"What did you need to talk to him about this morning?" His furious gaze alternated between her and the cars in front of him. She much preferred it when he wasn't looking at her.

"Cragen?" Her voice cracked in disbelief. "Jesus, Elliot, I told you it wasn't about this morning." He stared to turn to face her again and she ducked down. Anything to avoid that anger. "I was going to have to tell him I left my badge and gun in Phil's car."

"Yeah, right." He jerked the wheel sharply to the left, causing her to slam into the door.

Shoving the purse she'd grabbed off her desk at him, she snarled. "See?" Fucking bastard had no right to call her a liar.

"You told him."

"Told him what?" She'd already covered that she hadn't told him about the kiss, so he had to be talking about something else. But his glare, accompanied by a hiss, assured her that he was hell bent on believing she was lying. "I didn't tell him anything about it."

"Yeah, you did."

"No, I didn't!" She hated that he'd gotten her so riled up that she was actually yelling. She hated that he was the only man who could ever get her that riled up. "Why would I?" She hated discussing something so personal and intimate with him when she had to keep her defenses up too.

"Because you love to kiss his ass."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. "I'm the last person on the planet to kiss anyone's ass." She figured the fact that she was even trying to fight with him while he was clearly beyond reason was a perfect example of that fact. She didn't sugar-coat shit for anyone.

He threw the car in park and turned sideways to stare at her. "Then you'd better report him for peeping in your windows."

The cold, distant sound of his voice hurt and she reached out, grabbing his arm in an attempt to reach the Elliot she knew. "Why would I tell him that?"

She must have gotten through, she realized, because he jerked away and looked out the window. "I don't know, but you did."

"Why do you keep saying that? I didn't fucking call him. I don't tell him shit unless I have to." She thought it best to keep her boss and her personal life as far away from each other as possible. "What did he say?"

He smirked, shaking his head with no humor. "What difference does it make? He knows. I didn't tell him. So you must have."

"Fine. Whatever." She reached into her bag, pulling her phone open and starting to dial Cragen's number.

He grabbed at her hand, slapping her phone closed when he saw the number. "What are you doing?"

She flipped the phone open and tried again. "I'm going to ask him what he said."

Once again he grabbed at her phone, his fingers clamping it shut painfully over her own. "Look, I shouldn't have kissed you and I'm sorry I did. It won't happen again, so let's just drop it."

A part of her that had dared to hope was crushed under the harsh weight of his words, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing it, not with the take-no-prisoners mood he was in. "Fine, if that's what you want."

"That's what I want." He nodded. "Let's just work this fucking case. When we get back to the station, you can have your little heart to heart with Cragen if you still want to."

When he climbed out of the car a moment later, she saw him triumphantly slip her phone into his pants pocket. He grinned at her, knowing that while she'd have no qualms reaching for his jacket pocket, she wouldn't dare even try with his pants. She didn't even care anymore how Cragen had found out. She was more upset that Elliot wouldn't believe her, wouldn't take her word for something, wouldn't fight for something he'd dared to start in the first place.

She sucked in a deep breath and tried to put herself back in detective mode as Elliot led the way into the school library where Natalie Miller had spent the afternoon before she was raped.


	7. Day Two, part 6

_Unknown Day_

_The quiet was getting to her. She hated listening to the silence. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. It didn't take too long before she realized that the more she consciously tried to take even breaths, the more difficult it became. Apparently, it was something that only sleep could produce._

_She decided to try the alphabet again, having forgotten why she'd given up the task in the first place. She even put parameters around it, insisting that she imagine saying it, rather than singing it, like a street cop might require of a drunk._

_It started out well enough. She tried to smile around her gag when she got to the e because it made her think of Elliot. Had she been mad at him? Something tugged at the back of her mind, maybe a memory, maybe she was just tired. Something felt weird at the thought of Elliot – not really wrong, more like off. Strange. Shaking her head, she brushed it away, going back to the letter e and the smile it drew out._

_Even if she had been mad, it didn't really matter. None of their fights really mattered. She just wanted to see him._

_She tried to go back to the alphabet, confused for several minutes as to where, exactly, the h went because she couldn't quite remember if it was before the g or after._

_The i and j gave her pause too. Lots of letters looked alike, but she found herself wondering if the guy who made up the alphabet put them next to each other on purpose to make a little smiley face or if he got himself all confused and started to write the i again, realized his mistake, and created the j. She figured maybe he didn't have an eraser._

_And then he was there again. She would have smiled, but she couldn't find the energy to fight the gag. He always took it off her anyway. But he was different, as off as her memory of whatever had happened with Elliot. He reached for her hands, like always, but that was where the similarities ended. She cursed it silently, hating that just when she'd accepted her new life, it had to change again._

_His hands were on hers, slowly bringing them down, for the first time mindful of the excruciating pain in her shoulders from being in her position so long. And rather than pulling her arms over his head, he left them to drop to her lap. His arms and legs moved around her, speaking something soft and reassuring that she couldn't quite understand as he did so. He'd never pulled her into his lap; he'd always laid down with her in his arms. He spread something over her, something warm and soft, covering her for the first time. He didn't even call her Maggie._

_She wasn't sure what to do. Terrified to lose the contact, scared to make him leave her again, she didn't resist, didn't fight, didn't make any noise. If she was completely acquiescent, completely submissive, then he wouldn't find any cause to leave her. She didn't want him to leave. She loved that he smelled right and felt right and held her and rocked her. She loved having Elliot there with her like that._

_She loved him. _

_She took a deep breath, inhaling his strong, glorious scent as her face burrowed into his neck. She loved him. Everything about him. He was magic to her – he could soothe her and comfort her and make her feel whole. She wanted to stay there in his arms forever._

_And somewhere in the back of her mind it scared her that she didn't even have to pretend anymore. She'd gotten so good at pretending it was Elliot that she instantly and without conscious thought, perceived him in place of her captor. She was so comfortable resting in Elliot's arms that she slipped off to sleep without shedding a single tear_

_Why would she cry when she was safe in the arms of the man she loved?_

Day Two, cont'd

Elliot didn't slow down as he approached the front desk, but Olivia's long legs closed the distance before their dispute could be witnessed. They were in step when they reached the counter.

The librarian, whose name tag read Angela, was a slight, middle-aged woman and offered them a wide smile. "May I help you?"

Before Elliot could alienate the woman with his obnoxious attitude, Olivia flashed her badge and a smile. "Detectives Benson and Stabler."

Olivia didn't get any further. Angela nodded. "You're here about Natalie. Poor little thing. It's such a shame."

Dispute aside for a respite, Olivia and Elliot glanced at each other to convey their mutual surprise at the woman's response.

"She called this morning, asked me to reserve her journals for later in the week. She's in here so much – I've gotten to know her pretty well. She's so sweet."

Elliot's patience was rapidly disappearing. "How often is she here?"

"Oh, everyday. Three or four hours in the afternoon, longer on the weekends. Except Wednesdays. She always meets her boyfriend for lunch on Wednesdays." As she spoke, Angela waved at another pair of students coming in.

Olivia tried to pull her attention back. "Did you notice anyone strange? Maybe someone paying attention to Natalie?"

The other woman frowned and tapped a finger to her lips. "Hmmm, no, not that I recall."

Elliot opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"Well, there's Howie, but he's not really out of the ordinary. He's always here." She lowered her voice and leaned closer. "I think he's a little slow, if you know what I mean. This is the science library. Most of the students are here working on their thesis or dissertation. Some professors doing research too. Half of them don't even speak English."

Elliot was looking around, noticing for the first time the floor contained wall after wall of bound journals rather than the computer terminals and copiers he might have expected in a regular university library. "And Howie?"

"He's always reading books, but they're never in the same discipline. I think he just likes them. But he's always friendly and he never tries to sneak food in. I did see him talking to Natalie a few times."

Olivia nodded. "Do you know his last name and where we can find him?"

"Druskin, I think. He'll be up on the second floor. Really likes the periodicals." Angela turned away to wave at another student carrying a stack of books that reached over his head.

Elliot's sigh revealed his annoyance while Olivia tried to pretend she hadn't noticed. "What's he look like?"

"Oh, you'll know him."

Elliot thrust his card in her face. "Thanks, Ms-"

"Andrews."

He blew through the metal detector, leaving Olivia to smile apologetically as it started to wail in protest of his firearm. He was halfway up the stairs before Olivia caught up to him that time.

"Thanks, partner." Taking the last few steps three at a time, she beat him to the door.

"For what?" His tone sounded like he really thought he'd behaved with Angela Andrews.

She smiled at him, a smile she knew more closely resembled a snarl. "Just for being you." When she stepped through the door, she didn't bother to hold it and found a tiny bit of satisfaction that his curse was muffled as the door slammed in his face. She knew it was probably bad karma to be rotten for the hell of it, but he'd hurt her feelings and she couldn't resist.

Silently, they turned down the first row of stacks. At the other end, they found a large, open room full of tables stacked high with thick volumes, half obscuring the few people working amid them. Most of them had additional stacks surrounding their chairs. Many even had piles of open books before them, taking notes from one, then referring to another. One tall man pushed a whole cart of books out in front of him before seeming to collapse at his station.

Elliot turned to her. "Is it just me or is it a little odd for a student to spend three or four hours at the library everyday?"

Trying to avoid whiplash from the mood swing, she shrugged. "I'm not even sure Sienna had a library."

Elliot smiled. "I'm sure they did."

"I had better things to do in college." She craned her neck to see if anyone stood out.

"Like what?"

"Like hot guys and jello shots, what else do girls do in school?"

Elliot looked either stunned or sick, but Olivia couldn't figure out which. "You could have mentioned that before I let Maureen live on campus."

Rolling her eyes, she patted his shoulder. "So I probably shouldn't mention I was doing the same thing in high school."

He grinned. "Well, personally, I was busy working on the cheerleaders."

"And we all know how well that turned out." Actually, she wasn't sure, but there was something about Kathy that had always screamed cheerleader to her.

Elliot's only response was a glare.

Olivia nodded at the studious people around them. "So that would mean these are the kids who ruined the curve."

"How are we supposed to know which one is Howie?"

Olivia pointed to a guy on the right. "Because that one over there is our age."

Elliot moved with her, but she could sense his hesitation. "Could be a professor, right?"

"No, that's him."

"How do you know?"

Olivia smiled enigmatically. "She said I'd know, didn't she?"

Elliot still looked suspicious. "Is this some intuition kind of thing?"

"No, it's a if he sat down next to me at a bar I'd leave kind of thing." Pulling out a chair, she sat down. "Hi, Howie."

The man looked startled, his dirty blond hair flopping in his face when he looked up. His eyes widened as he looked back and forth between Olivia and Elliot. "Hi?"

Elliot slid into the chair beside Olivia, muttering under his breath. "Well, God knows your radar is certainly reliable." Ignoring her glare, he looked at Howie. "You are Howie, right?"

Howie nodded once, swallowing as he set a thick book down. "Yes, my name's Howie." His eyes avoided Elliot's, ducking down as he turned toward Olivia, then looking up again. He looked at her, slowly taking in her face, his stare lingering on the swelling of her cheek. "Can I help you?"

Elliot held a picture of Natalie up. "You know this girl?"

Howie glanced at it barely long enough to focus before he looked back at Olivia. "Who are you?"

Irritated both by Howie's behavior toward him and Howie's apparent fascination with Olivia, Elliot held up his badge, blocking Howie's stare at Olivia. "We're detectives. Now, do you know this girl?"

Howie looked back at Elliot and narrowed his eyes. "Did you hit her?"

Olivia could see Elliot bristling at the suggestion and she stepped in. "Would you mind taking a look at this picture and telling us if you know her?" She took the picture from Elliot's grasp and slid it across the table.

Howie glared at Elliot for another moment before looking down at the picture. "That's Natalie." He reached out, picking up the picture to hand it back to Olivia. "Did something happen to her?"

Elliot snatched the picture up and put it in his pocket. "How do you know Natalie?"

Howie's eyes stayed on Olivia. "Tell me what happened to her."

Olivia shivered, the intensity of Howie's stare bugging her. "Why do you think something happened to her?"

"Because you're police." He reached out suddenly, so unexpectedly that his fingers managed to graze Olivia's cheek before she could pull out of range. "You shouldn't put up with that."

Elliot stood up, slamming his chair into the table behind him. "I'm going to check with Angela to see if there's anyone else I can talk to. It looks like you've got this covered."

Olivia stood up, her hand falling on his arm to stop him from moving away as she leaned in to speak so Howie wouldn't overhear. "Stay."

Elliot shook his head. "I'm not getting anywhere. If he knows anything, he's only going to tell you." He stepped back, motioning toward the stairs. "I'll meet you at the car"

"El, don't." She watched his back disappear through the stacks before she sat back down across from Howie. "So, how do you know Natalie?"

Howie was glaring in the direction Elliot had disappeared. "He treats you like shit."

"He's having a bad day." Olivia wasn't sure why she felt compelled to defend Elliot, not when Howie's observation was spot on, but she supposed it was instinct. He was her partner. And he didn't usually treat her like shit. She smiled to herself, thinking about the way he'd kissed her that morning. That certainly hadn't been shitty. "So, Natalie?"

Howie smiled back at Olivia. "Natalie's a nice girl. We talk about science sometimes."

Taking in the titles of the books Howie had, Olivia saw what the librarian had mentioned. There were physics textbooks, medical journals, chemistry books, aerospace magazines. "You're friends?"

Howie shrugged. "Not really. I only know her name because she dropped a paper once and I gave it back to her." He smiled. "She's not as pretty as you."

Olivia's eyes darted back to where she'd last seen Elliot and wished he hadn't left. "When's the last time you saw Natalie?"

"I don't want to talk about her."

Although she'd already been suspicious of Howie, his response piqued her interest. "Why not?"

Howie smiled. "Because I'd rather talk about you."

Olivia didn't bother responding. Standing up, she started to retrace her steps to the door.

"Wait!"

She wanted to keep going, but she reminded herself she was a police officer and, unlike Elliot, she couldn't storm away simply because she was in a mood. "What is it?"

Howie stood up and approached her, surprising her by his height. From the crouched way he'd been sitting, she'd thought he was short, however, when he stood, he was taller than Elliot. "What if I think of something? Remember someone weird?"

Against her better judgment, Olivia withdrew a card from her pocket. "Then give us a call." Then she did disappear, desperate to escape before Howie tried again.

Elliot was leaning on the car, sipping at a bottle of water he'd picked up from a vendor. "So, you make plans for tonight with your new friend?"

She glared at him. "Remind me to return the favor next time some sex-starved housewife has you in her sights." She snagged the water from him and took a sip.

"Get anything useful?"

She grinned as Elliot opened her door. "Besides finding out that I'm prettier than Natalie?"

He climbed in beside her, all traces of his tantrum gone as he smiled back. "I could have told you that."

"He's creepy. Besides that, nothing." She ignored his comment because she didn't know what to do with it. Elliot wasn't supposed to tell her she was pretty. But then, he wasn't supposed to kiss her or pin her against the wall and tell her she belonged to him. It was something she was going to have to deal with later, when she was alone, possibly after ingesting a lot of tequila.

"He's harmless."

"I'm not sure about that." It was rare that she and Elliot disagreed about people.

"He's probably retarded and can't even read. Did you see that spread of books? He just wants to pretend to be a scientist or something."

She really hoped he was right. "He didn't really seem retarded. He seemed like a creep."

"I think you have that effect on men."

Her mouth fell open as she looked at her partner. "What?"

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes as he drove. "You tend to bring out everyone's dark side."

Her first instinct was to fight, to dispute what she immediately thought was completely untrue. But then she thought about her luck with guys – the apparently normal reporter who wanted to play rapist, Phil's violent tendencies, Elliot's snap in the elevator. He hadn't even been trying to upset her; he'd only been stating something he believed was a fact. Hurt and embarrassed, she turned away.

The ride back to the precinct was silent. The rest of the day nearly was too except for bringing the captain up to speed. He didn't even bid her good night when she left. She didn't bother saying it either. Elliot had already made it clear that she didn't have anything to say that he wanted to hear.


	8. Day Three, part 1

_Unknown Day_

_Her head hurt. She knew that was due to how hard she'd hit the wall when he'd grabbed her. Her thoughts were also kind of fuzzy, which she bet had something to do with whatever had been on the rag he'd put over her face. It hadn't been panic that had caused the world to go black barely a second after he'd slapped it over her face. With consciousness once again upon her, she tried to recall what had happened._

_She'd been royally pissed at Elliot. And she held onto that anger because she didn't want to feel the pain she knew was coming. The emotional pain, of course, was coming; the physical pain was already there. Every step hurt. She felt like a virgin, making her way home sore and suffering from an inconsiderate lover. Something she'd truly never expected Elliot would be._

_There'd been a noise, not ten feet from the front door of her building. And like an idiot, rather than being selfish and ignoring it, she went to see what it was. It sounded like a whimper, either a child or an animal, and she just hadn't been able to walk away._

_Thinking back on it, she wished she had._

_She struggled against her restraints, using the few senses she had left after the gag and blindfold were in place. The blindfold was secured around her ears, so she was left with touch and smell. Everything hurt and the room smelled musty._

_It wasn't a lot of help._

_And neither was the uncomfortable feeling between her legs, swollen and torn from Elliot's abuse, the miserable feeling of her stiff, filthy panties having dried over the night, choking her with the undeniable scent of sex and Elliot and her own enjoyment every time she moved._

_It was all his fault. If she hadn't been distracted thinking about him fucking her the way he had, the way her muscles ached from how hard she'd come, the fact that she could never go back to her job, it wouldn't have happened._

_Son of a bitch. If she lived to see him again, she'd kill him._

Day Three

The shrill ring of her phone woke her and she reached for it, her yawn twisting the sound into an unrecognizable slur of her voice. She hadn't slept the night before and wasn't in the mood to pick up a case. "Benson."

"Natalie was attacked again. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Mmmphh." She set the phone back down on the bedside table. She yawned again, rolling onto her side and letting her eyes drift closed. Five minutes. That was plenty of time for her to get some more sleep.

It took about three minutes for it to sink in, at which point she jerked awake and realized her partner was probably pulling up to her bulding's front door. Stumbling through her messy room, she yanked on some pants and a shirt. If anyone ever asked, and usually her dates did, she would explain that leaving her clothes lying all over the floor made it easier to get dressed on her way out to a crime scene in the middle of the night. It was a lie, of course, she was simply uninterested in bothering. She saw no point in putting away her clothes since she was just going to have to get them back out again.

She tripped down the stairs, clipping her badge and holster to her belt, knowing she could zip up her boots in the car. Juggling her keys, phone and jacket, she slumped into Elliot's car. "What happened?" She was still half asleep, but she'd been a cop for so long that she could do her job awake or asleep.

Elliot shrugged. "She called, said she'd been attacked again."

The comment caught her attention, jarring her the rest of the way from sleep. "A second attack and she called you?" She was used to rape victims calling her in the middle of the night, even a few years later, needing to talk. But few of them called Elliot.

He shrugged again, keeping his attention on the road, but she could see a smile curving his lips. "Maybe she's intimidated because you're prettier than her."

Zipping up her boots, she shook her head and tried to wipe the smile off her face. With the way Elliot was treating her, she shouldn't love the way it felt when he paid her a compliment. She knew her heart shouldn't race at the idea that he found her attractive. She knew she should resent the way he was so obviously playing her emotions. But in truth, there was nothing she could do to prevent the special zing that his smile and attention sent flying through her veins.

Uniforms and crime scene techs were already on the scene when they arrived. Natalie was waiting for them on the couch, holding a beer in her hands. Elliot allowed Olivia to enter in front of him, assuming the approach of a man might frighten her.

"Natalie, I'm so sorry. Can you tell me what happened?" Mindful of her personal space, Olivia sat on the far side of the couch.

Natalie swirled her beer around, taking a long sip. "He came back."

Olivia's eyes darted to Elliot's, trying to see how he was taking Natalie's bizarre reaction. He looked suspicious as he nodded toward the bedroom, indicating silently that he was going to check on the crime scene techs. She looked back at Natalie, reaching for the beer bottle. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"I was sleeping. There was a noise that woke me and when I got up to see what it was, he grabbed me and threw me on the bed." Natalie shrugged, her eyes avoiding Olivia's. "Then he raped me."

Olivia could only imagine the horror of being raped. She didn't want to think about what a second attack would do. "Do you think it was the same man?"

Natalie nodded. "He knew my name. He felt the same."

"There's a bus waiting to take you to the hospital. Think you're ready to go?"

Natalie looked at her watch. "Will I have to give another statement too?"

Olivia chalked the odd behavior up to having been raped twice in two days. "You'll need to come down to the station. It would be good to get that done as soon as possible, but if you're not up to it, it can wait a day or so."

"Can I think about it? I have classes early and I don't want to miss them."

Olivia nodded, standing by as the paramedics helped the girl onto the stretcher. "I'll meet you at the hospital as soon as we finish up here." Once Natalie was wheeled out of the room, Olivia headed for the bedroom. Elliot was leaning against the wall, watching as Jill, one of the techs they bumped into occasionally, collected evidence. "What do we have?"

Elliot nodded at Jill, who Olivia realized was spending an awful lot of time wiggling her ass in Elliot's direction. "Jill can bring you up to speed."

Jill pretended to be fascinated by the carpeting. "We have fluids, hairs, fingerprints." She shrugged, flashing a grin at Elliot while ignoring Olivia. "Either Natalie has a male friend or the perp is an imbecile."

Irritated and sleep deprived, Olivia cleared her throat. "Wouldn't be the first time to see both. A twenty-three year old woman with a boyfriend is hardly strange."

Elliot squatted down next to Jill, not even trying to hide it when he winked at the woman. "How soon do you think we'll get DNA?"

Jill rolled her eyes and glanced back at Olivia for the first time. "I'll get right on it and give you a call." She stood up, pausing at Olivia's side to stage whisper her last comment. "Because we both know Elliot doesn't know how to use a phone."

Olivia's eyes darted back to Elliot's in surprise, shock momentarily blocking her pain. But Elliot's eyes were locked on Jill's ass as she disappeared around the corner, his whole body leaning to keep her in sight. When he finally gave up and looked back at Olivia, the shock had gone, replaced by anger, which continued to spare her from hurting. "Jesus, Elliot, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Standing up, he returned to her side. "What?"

"Nothing. We need to meet Natalie." She wanted to strangle him. She preferred thinking Elliot was having mood swings between the sweet guy who'd kissed her and a conceited asshole who thought he owned her. She didn't like knowing it was the same skirt-chasing Don Juan.

But when they got back in the car, Elliot wouldn't drop it. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Jill? What is she, twelve?" It really didn't have anything to do with Jill's age, but it seemed a legitimate argument rather than her hurt feelings.

"She's twenty-six." He winced as soon as he spoke, perhaps realizing that he'd incriminated himself by knowing that fact.

Olivia choked on a disbelieving laugh. "She's your daughter's age."

Elliot's hands gripped the wheel in anger. "Maureen is not twenty-six."

"Close enough. What would you do if you found out she was fucking someone your age?"

Deciding to play stupid, he tried to smile. "What makes you think I'm fucking Jill?"

"You did. And clearly, you only did it once and never called her or she wouldn't be pissed off about your ability to use a phone, would she?" She couldn't believe her partner was really that much of a jerk.

He didn't say anything. He just stared out the window until they pulled into the hospital parking lot. "What business is it of yours who I fuck?"

Shaking her head, she shrugged. "I'm just curious, I guess." She slammed her door with far more force than necessary before glaring at him. "So, really, am I the only woman on the planet you haven't slept with?"

His eyes searched hers, searching for something he thought he found. "Jealous?"

"Not really." She led the way toward the doors, hoping he was just guessing as opposed to reading her. "Seriously, El, were you on some kind of tear or what?"

He caught up to her in two steps. "What are you talking about?"

"Jill, Agent Williams, Dani, how many more are there?"

He stopped suddenly, grabbing her arm and forcing her to do the same. "What do you know about Dani?"

She glared at him, suddenly quite angry that the rumors had been true. "Elliot, the entire state of New York knows about you and Dani."

"Really?" At least he had the tact to look embarrassed.

"You weren't exactly discrete." It was the truth. The rumor mill had long since stopped trying to get information from Olivia and therefore had stopped providing it to her as well. It took a hell of a lot for a rumor to actually reach her.

"I thought we were." Elliot was staring at the ground, his cheeks displaying the slightest hint of red.

"You hooked up in the parking lot of a cop bar. If you weren't trying to broadcast it, what was the point?"

He turned away and started walking, muttering under his breath. "I didn't know you knew about that."

"What difference does it make?" She wanted an answer, like knowing if he still would have kissed her had he known she was aware of all the recent notches in his belt.

"How would you like me to bring up Cassidy?"

Her mouth dropped open, not quite believing her partner would do that. "What the hell does Cassidy have to do with anything? That was almost ten years ago."

He shrugged as they approached the desk. "Mistakes are mistakes, Liv. No one likes to have their noses rubbed in them."


	9. Day Three, part 2

_Unknown Day_

_He was gone again. She'd just gotten him back after such a long time away and he was already gone. She felt so cold and scared and exposed and helpless. She squeezed her eyes closed as tightly as she could, refusing to look, refusing to see._

_She only knew that his arms and the safety and warmth and acceptance she'd found in them were gone. No matter how hard she tried, her closed eyelids couldn't stem the flow of tears. Her cheeks were soaked with them as she cried, moaned around the gag, tried her best to scream._

_He was there again, somehow, magically responding to her terror. He pulled the gag from her mouth, slowly, gently working free the tortured flesh of her lips, allowing her the freedom to scream and yell as much as she wanted._

_She reached for him with her bound hands, fighting to lift her heavy arms with all the strength she could find, crying in her hysteria that he would leave her again, sobbing with the thought that he wasn't going to stay._

_She couldn't take anymore. She was weak. She was defeated. She needed him to stay, to hold her, to love her._

_Through her sobs, she forced out the word, her anguish stretching a single syllable into a hollow, excruciating plea. "El!"_

_And he responded, as she'd prayed he would, folding his arms around her, cradling her against his strong chest, enveloping her in the feeling of utter safety, offering her the protection she sought so desperately._

_And again, he promised her that everything would be ok, that she was fine, that he wouldn't leave her._

_She remembered the words she wanted to say, the profession of her undying love that she hope would make him stay with her, but the words wouldn't come out, the complexity of the sounds beyond her. She could only claw at the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him with the tiny, pathetic amount of strength she had remaining._

Day Three, cont'd

Speaking to Natalie at the hospital was slightly less helpful than it had been the first time. Her father showed up again, shutting them down before they got anything at all out of her. With his assurance that she would come in to the station following her classes that morning, Elliot and Olivia headed back to the car.

"Something's not right here, Liv."

She shrugged, agreeing with his instinct, but unable to voice her doubt for some reason. "Maybe if we can get her talking, away from daddy, we'll get something out of her."

Elliot shrugged, immediately siding with the father as he tended to do. "He's just trying to protect his daughter. I'd do the same thing."

"And obstruct the investigation into who raped her? I don't think so."

He smiled at her. "Yeah, you're right. I'd head up the investigation and then kill the bastard."

"We should go back to the university. She said she spends all her time there. He knows her. If he's been hanging around, watching her, then someone there can probably point him out."

Elliot shook his head. "Let's go to the station and wait for her statement."

"That's just wasting time. Might as well get some of the canvassing done." As with all cases, Olivia's first priority was to get the rapist off the street, regardless of any logical processes.

"There was no forced entry in her apartment, Liv. She had to have let him in. I'm not spending any more time on this until she tells me something that makes sense." Elliot had the advantage – they'd arrived in his car because he'd picked her up.

With an angry glare directed at him over the roof of the car, Olivia agreed. "We'll see what Cragen has to say." By the time she buckled her seat belt, she recalled Jill and her wiggling ass. "Maybe we'll have some info on the DNA by then."

Natalie arrived at the precinct a little before two, escorted by her boyfriend. Because of his attitude, Olivia suggested that Elliot let her work with Natalie alone. The last thing she wanted was to have a rape victim shut down because someone didn't believe her. Elliot said he'd talk to Derek, the boyfriend, while Olivia tried to extract some kind of sense out of Natalie.

And in just under forty minutes, Olivia extracted exactly what Elliot had wanted to hear.

Natalie admitted that she'd fabricated both rapes. Her father didn't approve of Derek and, at the risk of losing her tuition, she'd promised her father that she would break up with him. She hadn't and when she discovered she was pregnant, she'd panicked, deciding to claim that she'd been raped in the hopes she could blame the pregnancy on that. But when she'd confided in Derek about her plan, he'd gotten angry and beaten her.

Which, she revealed, had given her the perfect "evidence" for her plan.

Olivia was ready to strangle Natalie by the time she led the girl out of the interrogation room. She was expecting that Elliot would be out there, waiting for her, smug look in place, waiting to tell her he'd told her so.

It was so much worse when she had to track him down, find him in another interrogation room where he appeared about ready to beat a confession out of Derek, and admit that Natalie had played her.

Usually, whenever they faced a situation where Olivia had staunchly believed someone who wound up lying, Elliot would console her, reassure her about her skills as a detective, promise her that her ability to defend the most questionable victim was a strength, her strength, something he respected. Instead, Elliot had glared at her while he threatened the young couple about the punishment for filing false police reports.

Olivia felt as chastised as Natalie should have by the time they left, sinking down at her desk and wishing she could start the week anew and do everything differently.

Elliot dropped into his seat across from her, smiling smugly. She knew it was coming and he didn't disappoint her. "I knew she was lying."

Olivia slapped a folder on the desk in front of her and started writing up the explanation for their wasted time. "You think everyone's lying." It wasn't the sort of comment she would make toward him normally, but then, normally he didn't act like a jerk.

He shrugged, collecting all the useless pieces of paper that they'd already assembled for the case. "I'm right half the time." He was being pompous and she wasn't in the mood.

Standing up, Olivia shoved her chair back so hard it smacked into the desk behind her. "You know, if you've gotten to the point where you think half the rapes that are reported are made up by lying whores to get back at their wonderful, loving boyfriends, then you really need to get out of this unit."

Elliot wasn't one to ignore a challenge and he seized the opportunity to fight. He jumped to his feet, mirroring her stance and allowing his voice to grow loud enough to draw attention. "Don't tell me how to do my job."

She enjoyed the feeling of power, for having gotten such a reaction from him. Smirking, she kept her voice even and level. "Someone has to."

His lip curled up in a snarl, driven more by her cavalier attitude than by her words. "I've been doing this job since you were writing out parking tickets, so it's not going to be you."

It took her a moment to process his words, for the full meaning to sink in. Yes, granted he had a few more years on the job than she did, but his seniority was hardly something that came up often between them. In fact it had been years since he'd dared mention it, probably because he'd been aware such a remark would earn him a broken bone or two.

But finally the comment hit home, filling her with so much fury that she didn't care that she was shouting back at him. "Then maybe you're getting so old you need to retire." It was a ridiculous argument given the small handful of years separating them, but if that same small handful of years on the force was enough for him to throw in her face, then his age was fair game too.

Words were forming on his lips as the sounds from the rest of the bull pen died out. For a moment, Olivia thought it was solely due to their preposterous fight, however, when Cragen's voice filled the air, she realized the captain's wrath had something to do with the unnatural stillness in the air.

"Get your asses in my office." He didn't even look at them and Olivia suspected that was for the best. It was definitely an 'if looks could kill' moment, and Olivia had the sense to recognize she was lucky to be alive even if her partner didn't. For the second time in as many days, they filed unhappily into Cragen's office. He barely waited for them to pass through the door before he slammed it, crowding into their personal space one at a time until each of them backed up. "Why is it that every time I tell you two to keep your personal shit out of this office you think it means I want to see more of it?"

Olivia stared, shocked as much by Cragen's unexpected hostility as she had been by Elliot's harsh words. "Sir?" Usually, he was captain or Don, but when his face was beet red with anger, respect was required.

Cragen turned on her, his eyes flashing as he expected to take out all of his immediate anger on the one who dared speak.

But Elliot spoke up, his normally confident voice soft in the face of his angry boss. "You told me, not her."

Olivia's mind was reeling, trying to piece together what had happened – the warning Cragen claimed to have given, Elliot's unprovoked anger the day before. She recalled the fierce way Elliot had stared at her from the boss' office the afternoon prior, the certainty with which Elliot had accused her of telling Cragen about the kiss. She desperately wanted to know what had passed between them, especially knowing it had been in response to Elliot threatening the man who'd struck her.

But Cragen's voice interrupted any request for information that she might have made, his tone uncharacteristically mocking. "And what? I'm supposed to believe you two don't talk to each other?"

Olivia wanted to speak up, inform him that while they exchanged plenty of words constantly, very little in the way of talking was actually being done.

Cragen continued before she had the chance, walking back to his desk to shove files around in frustration. "Don't tell me about it. I don't want to hear it. Every time I turn around, you're up each other's asses."

Olivia's mouth fell open. Her face burned. She'd never felt so belittled in her life. She couldn't believe, despite all the implications that had been made by Cragen or their coworkers over the years, that he was throwing their relationship, the dynamic that had solved so many cases, in their faces.

"So I'll say it one more time." He glared at Elliot as if to say he didn't believe the truth for one second. "To both of you so there's no confusion." He looked both of them in the eye one at a time. "This is the absolute last warning you're getting. Keep your inappropriate feelings out of this office. Do I make myself clear?"

Olivia's shock precluded any kind of response. Her eyes darted to Elliot, trying to gauge his reaction. His jaw was clenched, the veins popping out in his neck. She was glad his hatred was directed at someone other than her for the moment. Of course, it didn't take long for her to grow just as upset as both of them, realizing the full implication of Cragen's words.

The outrage and irritation rose up in her and strangled her ability to stay quiet. "Exactly what the hell are you implying?"

Cragen's glare turned on her, locking on her for having the audacity to dispute his words. "I know what's going on here and it needs to stop. Last warning." He didn't wait for them to leave, instead turning and storming out the side door of his office.

Olivia had unfortunately been on the receiving end of Cragen's ill tempers before. Sometimes she'd deserved to be ripped a new one; sometimes she hadn't. Either way, regardless of whose fault the trouble had been, she and Elliot had always found a way to reassure each other, to comfort each other, to say, if only through a smile and brief eye contact that no matter their grievances with one another, they were ok. They were always strong, even when others thought they were weak.

So it was a bit disarming when Elliot glared at her. "You never should have told him." He stormed out, leaving Olivia steaming mad, completely humiliated, and utterly confused.

By the time she gathered enough of her flabbergasted self together to return to her desk, she found Casey had dropped by. Olivia would have found solace in the presence of another woman, someone who she could yank into the ladies room and vent about various pieces of the bullshit that had made up her day.

Except Casey was leaning on the edge of Elliot's desk, her classically attractive looks pleasantly arranged in a smile that seemed genuine, if a little excessive, her trim figure highlighted in the right places by a close fitting suit and tight shirt, her long legs appering from under the hem of her skirt, crossed at the ankle, on display for Elliot's all too appreciative eyes. And it was just a little more than she could take.

Furious and unable, or quite possibly unwilling, to control it, she stalked over to the apparently happy couple like a lioness about to pounce. All the frustration she felt with Elliot and Natalie and Cragen screwed up her face until a single look at Casey vanquished the redhead's pretty smile. Elliot didn't have time to turn around before Olivia leaned down into his ear, hissing just loud enough for him to hear her incensed words.

"Fuck, Elliot, did you nail Casey too?"

She didn't even pause as she stormed up to the crib, slamming her feet down with every step in an attempt to vent some of her frustration.


	10. Day Three, part 3

_Unknown Day_

_Her eyes focused on the wall in front of her. Rather, on the banner that hung on the wall in front of her._

_"Welcome Home, Maggie"_

_Well, if that wasn't just fucking great. The son of a bitch had gone and abducted the wrong fucking person. If there was a god, he was having a good, hearty laugh over that._

_Olivia let her head drop back against the wall, wincing when she hit concrete. All she'd wanted was a fucking shower. She was so tired that a bath had initially appealed to her, except that would mean soaking in the water and she really wanted his fluids off her, out of her, as far away from her as she could get them. So the bath had been ruled out on the subway. She just wanted to be clean, to feel clean, and some part of her also wanted the comfort of curling up beneath her thick blanket and crying. The emotions that had overwhelmed her needed to go somewhere._

_And instead of her shower and a good cry, she was staring at Maggie's shiny silver banner with each bubble letter a different shiny color._

_Of all the fucking bad luck in the world. Of all the cases of mistaken identity ever recorded, Olivia was pretty damn certain hers took the fucking cake._

_And if she lost her job because she was found with Elliot's semen caked between her legs, she was going to sue the shit out of somebody._

_Although it would certainly serve him right to get hauled in for questioning in her abduction and rape when they found his fluids mixed in with Maggie's friend's._

_Olivia lifted her head and glared at the banner, hating Maggie with renewed energy._

Day Three, cont'd

She heard Elliot's chair scraping along the floor as he stood to follow her. She heard Casey's voice, inquiring if she'd missed something. She heard Fin's voice, asking someone she couldn't see if he needed assistance.

Two steps down the hall and she decided the crib wasn't going to help. The gym, however, would allow her to pound out her anger on something. Changing direction, she tried to talk herself down, tried to reason that just because Elliot was willing to screw everything else with legs didn't mean that she was unattractive.

But she couldn't help it. It was a slap in the face.

And so was the kiss, when she thought about it, because it was clear that he was moving on to her, having nailed everyone else in the city.

"Liv?" Fin's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"What?"

"There's a guy downstairs, wants to talk to the lady cop who worked on Natalie's case."

She turned on her heel, but didn't move forward. "Natalie's make-believe rape? Tell him to fuck off."

Fin held her eyes for a moment, waiting to see if she would give in. When he realized she wasn't going to, he nodded. "Ok, I'll have him talk to Elliot."

Just the mention of his name set her blood boiling again and she surged forward, past Fin. "Fuck him. I'll take care of it."

Returning to her desk, she found Derek sitting beside it, looking around nervously. She wasn't in the mood, especially when she saw that Casey and Elliot were both gone, probably off to the roof to have a little break-up sex. "What do you need, Derek?" She could barely listen to Derek's response because the moment she'd thought of Elliot fucking Casey somewhere nearby, she wanted to find them. She wanted to bust in on them and show Casey the door. She wanted Elliot for herself.

Shaking her head against the unexpected thought and hating herself for wanting someone who was being such a dick, she smiled at Derek. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Natalie's father thinks I'm a rapist." The young man looked down, twisting his hands in his lap. "He's so overprotective, he won't let Natalie do anything without his permission. She said he wouldn't even let her talk to you guys."

Olivia noticed the dirt under Derek's fingernails, his unkempt hair curling around his ears. She couldn't help contrasting it with Elliot's perpetually clean, well groomed state. And she couldn't really blame Natalie's father for disliking the boy either. "Are you here to report a crime?"

"No, but I was wondering if you might be able to talk to Natalie's father." Derek looked up from his filthy hands, staring at Olivia with a small smile.

She was distracted by Elliot returning to his desk. She saw the surprise on his face that she was already back. She saw the way he threw himself in is seat. She saw the way he slammed his desk drawer. She almost snickered at the idea that his little tryst with Casey had ended unhappily. She grinned at the thought that maybe his little blue pill hadn't kicked in yet.

She turned back to Derek, obviously annoyed. "Why would I need to talk to him?"

Derek shrugged, shoving his hands in the pocket of his pants that were belted somewhere south of his waist. "Cause I'm not a rapist and he doesn't believe me."

Standing up, she shook her head. "I'm afraid that's something you're going to have to deal with on your own. We're not relationship counselors." She turned to walk away, not quite ready to sit across from Elliot yet.

"But this is all your fault!" His hand caught her arm, stopping her in her track. "You have to talk to him!"

She spun around, yanking her arm out of Derek's grasp. "Get the hell off me!" She saw Elliot, as well as Lake and Fin, on their feet. Elliot's hand was on his holster.

Derek didn't seem to notice the attention he was receiving. He stepped forward, crowding into Olivia's space. "You made him think I'm a rapist. You have to tell him I'm not."

"Natalie made up the whole thing. That's something you're going to have to work out with her." She didn't move, didn't give an inch, staring Derek down until he backed up.

Finally, he moved toward the door, his face screwed up in a snarl. "You ruined my life, you bitch!"

Seeing Lake and Fin sit back down, Olivia looked at Elliot who was staring after Derek with his hand still waiting to pull his gun. Shaking her head, she laughed. "What are you going to do? Save me?" She could see Cragen watching them and she smiled at Elliot, knowing he wouldn't dare pull something so soon. "Go to hell." She turned and headed for the crib again, no longer wanting the outlet of a punching bag. She was tired. She was having a hell of a week with assholes and she wanted some sleep.

The minute Cragen turned away, however, Elliot was hot on her heels, chasing her up the stairs. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

She didn't bother looking at him as she turned into the crib. "Go find Casey. I'm not interested."

"I'm not having an argument with Casey at the moment."

She looked at him, at the glint of amusement in his eyes behind the anger and it pissed her off. "Oh, so, I guess you can't get it up unless you're fighting with her?" She turned away.

Copying Derek's move, he grabbed her arm. "What fucking difference does it make to you?"

"Because I have to work with her." It was a lame excuse and she knew it. She hoped he wouldn't call her on it. And she really hoped he wouldn't notice the gooseflesh that popped up on her skin at his touch.

"It doesn't have a damn thing to do with work." His face didn't even look angry anymore. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, apparently at her expense.

She jerked her arm away. "Yes, it does. I want to know how many people I have to face every day who think I've been fucking you all this time."

He laughed right in her face. "No one thinks that. Trust me, no one thinks you're getting any at all."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Her concerns didn't really have to do with work, but considering the way he was burning through coworkers, it was perfectly rational for her to assume everyone would think he'd started with her.

He shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets and feigning nonchalance. "You're only a bitch like this when you're in a dry spell."

"Fuck you!" Yelling at him didn't give her any enjoyment, so she tried another approach. A very, un-Olivia sort of thing. She slapped him right across the face. The look of shock and the red mark of her hand on his face did make her feel a little better.

He leaned in, crowding her like he always did when he was mad. "Fuck you!"

She'd gotten him riled up and she prided herself on being able to manipulate him as easily as they both knew he could manipulate her. "So was it every female we work with or did you bother to draw a line at gender?" She let her eyes drift down to the expensive jeans he'd taken to wearing when he'd worked with Dani. "Giving metro a spin?"

He backed off, perhaps realizing he wasn't gaining anything by trying to intimidate her. "Why do you care so fucking much who I'm with?" His eyes sparkled, somehow expecting that she might fall into his arms at his suggestion she was jealous.

She was jealous and she hated it. So she pretended she wasn't and shrugged. "El, I honestly don't care where you stick it."

"The hell you don't."

"I couldn't care less." She pulled the blanket back on one of the bunks as though she was going to climb in whether he was still talking or not.

"I don't think that's true." He was trying to crowd her again, leaning over her, brushing her body with his.

She turned back and refused to allow herself to be affected by his proximity. Rather, she tried to fake that she wasn't affected by his proximity. "I don't care what you think."

He stepped even closer, caging her against the bunks, one hand on her waist, the other on the side of the top bunk. "I think you do care." He paused, waiting for her to meet his eyes. "I think it pisses you off because I didn't stick it in you."

Her hands found his shoulders before she even consciously realized what he'd said and she shoved him away. "Don't flatter yourself." She glared at the hand that remained on the top bunk. "And don't touch me. Fuck whoever you want, watch me care."

He stared at her for a long time, holding her eyes. Finally, he took a step back and shrugged. "You know, Olivia, I just got rid of my wife. I don't want another one."

She raised her hand to slap him again, burning with the inference that she was trying to be the controlling, possessive woman he'd admitted Kathy to be in the final days of their doomed marriage.

He grabbed her wrist in mid air, holding her still. "Don't do that again."

Trying and failing to twist free, she pulled until his fingers dug painfully into her skin. "Get off me!"

He grinned, leaning in closer. "Don't you mean get me off?"

Her other hand came up, intent on smacking him.

But he grabbed that one too, using her arms to turn her and press her against the wall. His whole body fell into hers, slamming her hard, his arms pinning hers next to her head while his chest and hips pushed into her. His face moved forward, his lips brushing her chin and neck while his body rocked slightly against hers.

She let out a sigh, not quite believing he was touching her like that. The fight was forgotten that quickly and she stopped trying to resist his hold. She let her head fall to the side, encouraging the way he nuzzled her throat. As soon as he realized she wasn't fighting, he released her arms, his hands sliding down over her body. One of his hands snaked around her back while the other grabbed the back of her thigh, guiding her leg up. She wrapped it around him willingly, pressing her hips against his growing erection.

His arms closed around her waist, lifting her off the ground. Her other leg swung up, her ankles locking around him. His whole body was hard as he thrust into her, slamming her into the wall as his hips found the right angle to force a moan from her mouth. His face pulled back from her neck, his dilated pupils fixing on hers.

"Say it, Liv. Say you want me."

The idea that he was still trying to fight irritated her. She wasn't about to give in and she rocked her hips, feeling his dick respond to her body. He wanted her too. He wanted her every fucking bit as much as she wanted him. It was a draw. She half smiled, half glared. "Fuck you."

His eyes clouded over as his hips thrust again, grinding his lower body into hers so hard she started to think he was going to fuck her through two layers of clothing.

But then just as suddenly as it had all started, he pulled back, leaving her stumbling to right herself. He shrugged at her, as though his desire for her wasn't straining against the fabric of his pants. "I'm not that interested."

He stepped toward the door, ignoring Olivia's irate glare. She wasn't about to let him get the last word, not when he was the one who'd started it. "I should have known you were gay."

The only answer she got was the door slamming behind him.


	11. Day Three, part 4

**AN: There is very AC in here. If you're easily offended or dislike sex that doesn't involve candlelit bedrooms and romance, skip this.**

_Unknown Day_

_She couldn't take it anymore. _

_She was no stranger to crying. For the love of who or whatever was in charge of the cosmos, Olivia had spend more than her fair share of time bawling her eyes out – for herself, for her mother, for all the victims she'd ever encountered. Not to mention that she'd spent a lot of the time she'd been prisoner in tears as well. She hated it, she hated being weak in anyway. _

_But the way he'd moved her arms, the way he'd lowered them without following the movement by crushing them under his considerable weight, was absolutely killing her. Because between the raised position and his weight, the circulation hadn't been allowed to return to her arms in a long, long time. She hadn't even noticed when they'd stopped hurting, when the pain of the position and the handcuffs scraping her skin had faded away to blissful nothingness._

_She did, however, notice the return of blood to her strained arms and torn wrists. It started out bad, random, continuous stabs of pain starting in her elbows, working to her forearms. By the time the horrible sensation reached her wrists, she'd truly grasped why it was called pins and needles and was squirming against his hold involuntarily. The all encompassing fear of upsetting him, of making him leave her again, made her fight instinct to stay still._

_Her body was at war with her mind. Her mind was in heaven to be held close and gently by Elliot's thick arms, cradled against his solid chest, surrounded by his delicious scent. Her body, however, was in hell, quickly losing the battle against writhing in pain as the blood, and feeling, crept inch by inch through her abused limbs. Her wrists were raw, skin torn, muscles bruised, joints strained by the constant weight of her arms. Her shoulders were twisted so badly that she actually preferred the twisted numbness-inducing position rather than the excruciating relocation back to their normal place._

_She fought it, the urge to scream and cry and beg, longer than she'd realized she could. She amazed herself by her strength, refusing for an unfathomable stretch of time to give into instinct. She kept telling herself she could take it, she could deal with it, she could endure whatever he expected of her. Anything was better than being alone, being without Elliot in that empty, cold darkness. Squeezing her eyes closed, trying to hide the tears, trying to deny her body's need to sob to release some of the physical anguish in a scream._

_But the seconds seemed to lengthen painfully into forever and she longed for the oblivion of unconsciousness, even if she'd lose the sensation of being so close to Elliot, anything to stop the pain. Anything at all._

_And it was finally too much, too hard. It started as a soft, keening wail, quickly building into gut-wrenching sobs, shaking and bucking violently against Elliot's frame as he tried to hold her still._

_His voice was at her ear, where it always was, promising her that she was safe, that he wouldn't hurt her, that it was all over, that he'd make it all better. His voice morphed along with hers, seeming to her that he was crying, sobbing, shaking as well, begging her to not hurt anymore._

_She wanted to give in to him, to give him anything he wanted, but she was beyond her own control. She howled openly, wishing the pain would die back enough that she'd care that she was scaring him away again._

_"Please, El, please! Stop! Please, god, stop, El, please!"_

_She screamed and begged and pleaded, wishing for death or insanity or mercy from him._

_And finally it came, the pain subsiding quite suddenly, so suddenly that her shrieks died mid-word. She only had a moment of feeling a blissful, tingling warmth, starting in her brain and extending everywhere all at once. _

_Her last thought was that he hated her, that he couldn't stand her for giving in, that he was leaving her forever, that he'd rather kill her than be near her again._

_Her hands searched the thick, foggy air for his warmth and she found nothing. But there wasn't time for the fear or the panic to set in. There was simply darkness, a quiet, soft, warm, welcoming darkness._

_She didn't even feel it when her muscles failed entirely, letting her body lose the tension that kept her awake._

Day Three, cont'd

Olivia stared at the door, glaring at it so hard she half expected it would try to explain Elliot's behavior. Hell, it was better than glancing in the other direction, where the ancient, stained mirror might ask her to explain her own behavior. So Elliot was being a skirt-chasing ass. She couldn't really blame him, not after he'd spent most of his prime married to a woman who'd turned out to torture him by refusing him more often than not.

Of course that confession had been made after she'd had a few too many beers one night and while, at the time at least, she'd suspected the same could have been said of him, she was starting to wonder if maybe she wasn't simply next on his list. Maybe it was the challenge of someone who wasn't chasing him. Maybe it was the challenge of someone who wasn't going to fall for his meaningless winks and flirtatious smiles.

Not that she could count herself as one of those that resisted. Hell, he'd declared that she belonged to him in the damn elevator and rather than decking him as she would have been perfectly justified in doing, she'd simply trotted after him like all the other love-struck bimbos.

Shaking her head, she sat down on the bunk and kicked off her shoes. Fuck him. Whatever the hell was going on, she chalked it up to the frustration of having been physically attracted to someone she'd worked so closely with for so long. She turned over, curling onto her left side, pulling her knees into her chest. She'd been touched and stared at and hit and hit on by a series of creeps and she hadn't really slept in three days. Taking a deep breath, she swore she was going to rest.

Unfortunately, her body, which had so recently been set on fire by Elliot's frenzied touches, had other things in mind.

She squirmed after a few seconds, trying to will a peaceful state of mind to come her way that would let her grab a few hours. There was still hope that with a little rest, she'd be able to make sense of Elliot's odd actions and her own inexplicable desire to needle him. All she came up with was the fact that he hadn't had to leap far to guess that she was jealous, not with the way she was acting. Jealous, possessive girlfriend was not her thing and she vowed that he wouldn't ever witness that side of her again.

Flipping onto her right side, she decided that he'd had no more right to needle her than she'd had. And once she successfully got her eyes to close for more than thirty seconds, she was going to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was never to touch her, manhandle her, or press himself against her ever again.

Rolling onto her back, she groaned at the memories that washed over her. As much as she wanted to kill him for acting like a Neanderthal, he'd made her body respond in a way she'd never believed it could.

Fuck him, he'd made her hotter than any man ever had. And from only breathing on her neck and a little dry humping.

With a growl aimed half at him and half at her own stupid self, she glanced around the locker room in an entirely paranoid fashion. Her eyes slipped closed as her hand slipped under the blanket, searching for the waistband of her pants. She'd never dared at work. She'd rarely wanted to simply because of something Elliot had done. But she wanted sleep and she was never going to get any if she didn't give her body what the bastard had teased her with.

She bit her lip as her fingers brushed through her curls. She was close, unbelievably so, after their little argument. She'd never been loud, but she couldn't resist the whimper that escaped as she slipped one finger between her legs. It wasn't going to take long at all and that brought a wave of relief over her as the odds of getting caught were so much smaller.

Knowing she was close, she hurried her motion, burying a second finger in her soft skin, rubbing the bundle of nerves that she could have sworn had never felt so tender, so alive, so desperate for the touch of a certain someone. She pushed deeper, knowing she didn't have time for real enjoyment. She needed release. If she still wanted to, she could think about it later, at home, when she would be free to remember the tight grip he'd had on her arms, the delightfully intense feeling of his body pushing hers just a little harder than she would have expected, the feeling of his cock responding to her body so quickly, the way his dry thrust nearly made her come in his arms.

Letting out a shuddering breath, she thrust her fingers deep inside her, restraint slipping completely out of her grasp as she imagined Elliot's fingers in place of her own. He knew what he did to her. She'd seen it in his eyes, the same as she knew exactly how much he hadn't wanted to walk away from her. And knowing how sure of himself he'd been, how confident his smirk had been, she knew he'd know exactly how and where and when to touch her. As her fingers fell into a rhythm, a much harder, faster, more demanding one than she'd ever used before, she gave herself over to the fantasy, feeling his hand in place of her other one as it slipped up under her shirt, squeezing her nipple through her bra.

She felt her body start to tighten and she was almost disappointed that it would be over so quickly because she couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed self-service so much.

Her eyes closed tightly as her back started to arch, her lip tugged painfully between her teeth as she moaned. A moment later, she realized the moan, the likes of which she'd never uttered before, sounded a hell of a lot like his name.

In a panic that she would be caught calling his name as she fingered herself, she tried to open her eyes, but the pleasure was so intense that it took a lot more effort than she would have expected.

And in that moment, she felt a hard, vice-like grip close over her wrist, stilling her desperate movements. Surprise opened her uncooperative eyes for her, bringing her face to face with Elliot. His cheeks were red. His pupils were dilated. His fingers were brushing the apex of her thighs as he forced her hand still.

And then the bastard started to smile, knowing full well why he had to fight so hard to keep her still. She was so fucking close she thought she'd die.

She was so fucking embarrassed she was pretty sure she'd die.

And she realized, quite unexpectedly, that she was still moaning his name.

He yanked on her wrists, pulling her hand out from under her shirt, removing her sticky fingers from deep inside her, pinning them down on the bed. She had never seen him look so damn smug. "All you had to do was ask, baby."

She tried to pull away from him, whimpering and groaning and fairly certain mortification was a fatal illness. Failing to get away from him and suffering from the sudden stop, she thrashed, finally turning her head to the side. He forced her arms up over her head, holding her wrists in one of his hands. She continued to fight, more for her dignity than anything else, although the predatory look in her partner's eyes wasn't one she necessarily felt comfortable with.

His free hand pressed down on her hip, his weight leaning over her, stilling her distraught movements. He leaned forward, unbelievably gentle when his lips brushed over her forehead and cheeks, glossing across her chin and back to suckle her ear. She moaned again, desperate for release, for his touch, for anything he was willing to give.

As his mouth worked her neck, the hand on her hip let up the pressure, sliding gently over her belly, working beneath her pants, but staying outside her panties. He pressed on her center, just the slightest bit, undoubtedly feeling the moisture there, knowing it had poured out of her at the thought of him doing exactly what he was doing. He teased her with one finger, long, slow, soft strokes from her clit to her core, pressing just enough to make her grind onto him, making her consider begging.

His tongue danced along her collarbone, slowly making its way back to her ear, tracing it before pulling the lobe between his teeth. "You're close, baby."

Beyond the point of words, she whimpered, pressing her face against his, inhaling the scent of him deeply, recognizing the slightest change from normal, knowing he was so very turned on.

His finger pressed harder, pushing her panties up into her as he teased her with a tiny thrust before flicking her clit with his thumb. "I can help you out, Liv. You want me to?"

She groaned again, feeling a rush of cold as his face pulled back to look at her.

There was another rush of cold as her eyes met his, seeing that the smug, obnoxious gleam was still there.

She could have sworn her heart stopped beating as he smiled, a harsh sounding laugh pouring out of his mouth.

"Not without me, baby."

A stabbing pain shot through her, giving her the strength to jerk free of his cruel hands, letting her spring from the bed, but only allowing her to get as far as the closest wall before her knees started to shake. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He had no trouble closing the distance, folding his arms around her waist as he pulled her body into his, letting her feel that he was damn near the same hysterical point as she was. But he wasn't giving in, not even when she let her face fall forward, seeking the comfort she'd always found in her partner's proximity, not even when her hips bucked against his erection.

His hands found their way into her hair, tugging gently until she looked up at him. "I want to hear you say it, Liv." His hips ground against hers, revealing he still had some control left. "Say it. Please, god, I just want to hear you say that you want me."

And in that moment, she thought he was revealing a vulnerable part of himself, baring his soul to her the same way hers had been laid bare moments earlier. But still, she struggled with the words because she didn't understand why they were so important, not when they were so much better at communicating on entirely different levels.

Aiming to tease him back, she smiled, rocking against him slowly. "And if I won't?"

His eyes turned cold once again as he pushed her against the wall, leaving ample space between their bodies to keep her from relieving the pressure between her legs. "Then I won't either."

Fury welled up in her like it never had before, ice cold hatred racing through her veins, chasing away any heat that had been there. "Get out!" She struggled against his hold, not quite able to believe he'd really pin her against her will. "Get the fuck away from me!"

He shook his head, seeming to derive demented pleasure out of refusing to give her any. "We'll just see how long it takes before you change your mind." Once again, he managed to grasp both of her arms in one of his hands, freeing the other to run over her chest, teasing her taunt nipples

Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed and her whole body shook with violent rage. "Get the hell away from me or I swear to god I'll tell Cragen what you're doing." She meant it. She really did. If her partner really was the sick, perverted psycho he'd suddenly turned into, she would turn him in before she'd ever be alone with him again.

But Elliot was strong and fast and much more in control. He stepped into her again, pulling one of her legs up, insinuating himself between her legs. "Really? You'll tell Don about this?" His hand moved, finding the hem of her sweater and swiping his fingers over her burning hot skin. "What about this?" He gripped her leg, using it as an anchor to thrust himself against her. "You sure you want to tell him? Maybe we can just show him." He grinned as his face came down, brushing his lips over her forehead again. "I doubt he'll be all that surprised."

Finding strength in her anger once again, she ripped her hands from his grasp, shoving him, hitting him. "I hate you!" But she didn't. And they both knew it.

Something broke in his eyes, his whole psyche seeming to deflate in front of her. His hands grabbed at her face, pulling her mouth to his like that first time in her kitchen, kissing her tenderly. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to hurt you."

She believed him. She knew when he was lying and she knew he wasn't at that moment. But she was so hurt, so frustrated, so bitter over the way he'd taunted her when she was so vulnerable. She couldn't forgive him, not yet. She shoved at him, biting down her desire to kiss him back, ignoring the way she wanted to rejoice at his words, at the sudden bursting of the damn that had been holding them back from each other.

"Don't you ever touch me again!" It was her own moral outrage, she told herself. She was still so embarrassed over what he'd seen, still wondering how much he'd watched before he'd intruded, still pissed that he couldn't have waited until she was done to throw it in her face. "Get out of my way."

And once again, his control left him as he reached for her, grabbing her waist as she tried to shove past him, turning her to face the wall, crushing her body with his weight. "You're going to tell him? Then we better make sure you have a damn good story for him."

His hands strayed to her waistband, working the button and zipper in record time. Her hands moved from the wall, initially intending to push him away, instead gripping so tightly at his forearms she knew she was leaving marks. As he pushed her pants and panties down to her mid thighs, he head lolled back against him, her breath coming in short pants, her voice seeming to moan his name without her conscious agreement.

She'd never liked rough sex. Never. With her history, with her job, it had quite frankly always scared the shit out of her. Sex was already teasing the line of control until both people were just on the other side of it; adding violence and anger into the mix had always seemed a little too risky for her tastes. But it was different with Elliot, with a man she knew so well, with a man she loved more than she loved her own life, with a man she knew could do a god damned ballet on the tightrope between controlled and not and still manage to keep his balance when he wanted. She knew how frustrated he was, having been there only moments before, so desperate for release and being denied it from the last person she'd ever thought would do so.

And she'd never been so fucking turned on in her life as she was when she heard his zipper slide open and felt his dick smack against her ass in excitement that it was finally getting to join the party. His hands found hers, tangling their fingers together for a brief, affectionate moment before stretching her arms out in front of her, wordlessly instructing her to brace herself.

She was shaking as she stared at the faux wood grain on the cheap paneling before her, blind, defenseless, wondering what and how and when. The thought barely formed before he grabbed her hips, lifting her slightly as he pushed her legs apart.

And then he was inside of her, hard and huge and pushing and pulling. His hands moved under her shirt, grabbing her breasts almost clumsily in his hands, squeezing them roughly and mercilessly as his hips slammed painfully into hers. She'd been close with her fingers and with his, but she hadn't been expecting it and she hadn't been prepared for his size or the roughness with which he claimed her.

Her mouth was opening, the soft moan disappearing into what threatened to be a deafening scream of pleasure and pain. His hands pulled out of her shirt, one clamping tight over her mouth, letting her bite down on his flesh instead. His other pressed flat against her belly, bracing her lower body as his thrusts grew faster and harder and more frenzied.

She wondered if he was going to tear her in two. She wondered if she was bleeding. She wondered if it was really possibly to die from too much pleasure.

Her muscles drew tighter, even as the tension magnified the pain she was feeling. But when she thought her body couldn't get any tighter, her muscles continued to contract, kept trying to lock him in or out or something, drawing her so tight she started to shake from the exertion.

His mouth found her neck, his lips pushing through her hair to find her ear as his lower body continued to abuse hers. His voice was barely recognizable as he groaned in her ear. "Fuck, Liv, you're so god damned tight."

The hand that had been keeping her from screaming shifted, sliding down to her chin, twisting her neck almost painfully to the side until his teeth could clamp on her bottom lip, filling her mouth with his moan and the coppery taste of her own blood.

His hand moved again, quickly, purposefully, reaching between her legs to the bundle of nerves that seemed to her to be buzzing with electricity. His fingers were as rough as the rest of him, pushing against her hard, pinching and digging into her, then pulling forward so hard and fast she would have thought he took her clit with him.

Except that she wasn't thinking. She was tasting her own juices from the hand he'd clamped over her mouth again to keep her primal scream confined to the room.

Her whole body was on fire with the indescribable pleasure, burning and melting and flaming and exploding as she seized and shook and collapsed completely, barely even feeling when her spasms ripped the same violent reaction from him.

He tried to hold her up. She wanted to laugh at his chivalry then of all moments when he'd just fucked her within an inch of her life. He kept her body folded in his arms, except that he was falling too, no more capable of standing than she was. But at least when she hit the ground, her body was cradled in his arms.


	12. Day Three, part 5

_Unknown Day_

_In her time, she'd done plenty of stupid things. Really, phenomenally idiotic things. Most of them she'd half expected to end in her death when she'd done them._

_But she wasn't quite sure that anything even came close to the level she'd reached when she found herself fighting steel and concrete, forcing her body forward as far as she could, yanking her wrists and shoulders painfully, thinking she was going to win in a battle of wills against her own fucking handcuffs._

_Unperturbed by impossibility, she continued to strain with all of her might._

_Her thoughts settled on Elliot, thinking about his pure, masculine strength, thinking of his uncontrollable rage. He'd be able to pull himself free. The handcuffs would open and crawl away in fear of what Elliot's hostility would do to them. He'd undoubtedly rip the ring right out of the damn wall before he'd accept defeat._

_Just the thought of him, let alone the thought of how easily he would succeed, sent an explosion of wrath through her body. The answering adrenaline rush allowed her to push herself forward a little further._

_Rather than the freedom Elliot would have found in that moment, Olivia heard her shoulder pop. Her reaction was delayed slightly, allowing her the hideous millisecond to know what was coming before the pain actually set in._

_Hot, intense, and merciless._

_She found humor in it, in the momentary thought that the same words she'd use to describe how Elliot had fucked her could just as perfectly be applied to how she'd fucked her shoulder._

_She didn't think it for long, however, because the pain quickly eclipsed any coherent thoughts._

Day Three, cont'd

They stayed there, a tangle of limbs and heat and passion, neither one willing or able to move. His arms were locked around her middle, keeping her arms squeezed against her sides. Her fingers were wrapped around his biceps again, although she was tracing rather than ripping the bloody trails she'd carved in his flesh.

She'd tried to run the New York Marathon once. She'd been twenty-three, in the best shape of her life, and pretty damn sure she could do anything if she really tried. She'd trained and practiced tirelessly. At mile twenty-one, she'd realized that a marathon was a long fucking way. At mile twenty-two, she'd burned through the high-carb diet she'd been on for two months, the endorphins that had comforted her for a few miles, and even her steadfuckingfast will to finish. At mile twenty-three, she'd fully grasped the principle of inertia in that her body continued to move simply because it would seem to require too much work to stop. At mile twenty-four, her muscles began to shake, violent shivers tearing through her thin frame.

She never saw mile twenty-five because she collapsed halfway there and had to be carted off by the paramedics.

And sitting there, having fallen into Elliot in much the same fashion, she remembered and recognized the intense shockwaves that continued to roll through her. There was nothing in the world that could compare with the helplessness that accompanied complete physical exhaustion.

Her head was laying back against him, watching through half-closed eyes as his mouth worked for air and his chest heaved in pants. Exhausted, embarrassed, sore, fuck, she didn't know how to define how she felt, except that it was the best she'd ever felt in her entire fucking life. She wanted to stay there, in some crazy half-assed artistic interpretation of snuggling.

But his arms released her, slowly running over hers as his hands retreated to her shoulders. He squeezed them, leaning forward to press his lips into her hair. "Someone's going to come looking for us."

"Mmmmpphhhh." She was beyond words. It took too much energy to speak. She forced her hands to move, dropping onto the fabric of his pants, to let him know she was conscious, if unable to chat.

His hands moved, pushing her forward gently as he tried to disentangle them. "Seriously, babe, if no one heard you screaming, I'm going to suggest everyone get new batteries for their hearing aids."

She wanted to laugh, but she couldn't. Not when she realized she could feel his attempts to get free quite well. Not when she realized her partner's dick was still very much inside of her battered body. She wanted to squeeze him, to shift and wiggle and entice him for another, considerably more gentle, round. But her body just wouldn't cooperate.

And then he was gone, pulling out of her, away from her, leaving her ass to hit the cold tile floor with no warning. "Get up, Liv. Someone's bound to walk in here." She watched, stunned, as he walked over to the sink, tucking himself into his pants and zipping up as he went. She couldn't believe anything anymore. He hadn't even unbuckled his belt to fuck her. Hell, his shirt hadn't even come untucked.

She managed to pull herself to her feet, struggling to find her balance with her pants still wrapped around her thighs. Her cheeks burned as she realized that whatever she thought had happened between them hadn't. He hadn't undressed her and made love to her. He hadn't even hastily ripped off her clothes and had sex with her. No, he'd fucked her, fully clothed and half willing, painfully taking what he wanted from her body.

In that moment, she completely understood how a woman could be so remorseful after sex that she could actually claim that it had been rape, that there had been no consent. Because she'd consented to have sex with him, but she'd never consented to him fucking her like that. She felt gross. She felt dirty.

Elliot splashed water on his face and then dried his face and hands before he carefully unrolled the sleeves of his dress shirt to hide the bloody scratches she'd given him. She hoped they'd get infected as she pulled her pants up, wincing at the harsh, painful pressure of the fabric on her crotch. She wasn't even sure how she'd be able to walk, not with the distinctly personal soreness between her legs.

It would have been ok, even the way they'd gone at it like animals, if only he'd offered her something in the way of comfort, something more than the embrace that only lasted long enough for him to collect himself, something more than the kiss he'd pressed into her hair that didn't seem nearly so meaningful two minutes later. She sank onto the mattress, wincing as the movement hurt her delicate skin. But she needed to put her shoes on and she knew she didn't have the strength to balance on one foot while she yanked them on.

By the time she got one shoe on, Elliot had crossed the room and thrown open the two windows, clearly sensible enough to make the attempt to hide what they'd been doing in there. By the time she got the second shoe on, he was back at the sink, soaking one paper towel, and tearing a dry one off the roll.

She wanted to run when he approached her, but she either didn't have the strength or the shock was setting in. He sat down on the bunk next to her, his hand cradling her chin as he pressed the wet towel to her lip. She hadn't even realized it was still bleeding, but suddenly her stomach lurched, understanding her lip was bleeding from where he'd bitten her. She wanted to shove him away and take a shower. She wanted a swig of Listerine more than she wanted her next breath.

He set the wet one down, using the dry one to dab at her lip. Apparently content with the result, he dropped the second paper towel and moved on, running the fingers of both hands through her hair, calming the disarray he'd caused. She would have stopped him or done it herself, but she couldn't remember how to speak or move. So she sat there, confused and sad and hurt, while he fixed her hair.

Finally, one of his hands dropped as the other tucked one last strand back behind her ear. His eyes, which she'd noticed had been compulsively moving around, locked on hers. There was a slight quirk of his lips into a smile. "Come on, Liv. Wake up."

She stared back at him, unsure how he could be so fucking ok after what had just happened. Her chin trembled, tears suddenly welling. From such a close position, he didn't miss it, his thumb moving quickly to swipe away the few tears that fell.

"Don't, baby."

Her face contorted involuntarily; her voice came out choked. "Don't? Don't what?" She hurt. Her body fucking hurt because he'd just ridden her like some fucking cheap whore. And to make it worse, she could feel his fluids soaking through her panties, into her pants. A fat lot of good opening the windows was going to do with the scent of sex wafting off her body.

He sighed, shaking his head and standing up to throw the paper towels in the trash. "Not here, damn it."

She found the strength to stand out of sheer indignation. "Not here?" A cold, bitter laugh fell out of her mouth. "Why the fuck not?"

Suddenly paranoid, he glanced at the door before he approached her, reaching for her until she jerked back. "Liv, come on, this is not the place."

She snorted again. "Right, maybe we should discuss it in the bullpen. This is a little to private for something so personal."

They squared off, their irritated stances so familiar, yet so uncomfortably new under the circumstances. Olivia wasn't one for discussions in general, rarely about feelings, definitely not regarding relationships. But she felt that the situation warranted something spoken, spelled out definitively.

Elliot sighed, dropping his hands from his hips, leaning against the wall beside her. "Look, we need to talk about this. I know that." He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, he could only stare at the ground. "Believe me, I'm well aware of that. But one thing I know is that it shouldn't have happened here and while we can't do anything about it, we can certainly table the discussion of it until later."

She nodded, pretending she was agreeing while she processed his words. He was dodging. She was sure of it. He wanted to get out of the crib, back to the bullpen where he knew she wouldn't dare bring it up. Stepping closer, she met his reluctant eyes. "If you walk away from me right now, there's nothing to talk about." She didn't believe in ultimatums, but she didn't believe in being strung along by someone who had no intention of ever getting back to the topic either.

His hands reached for her, lightly dancing over her hair, her shoulders, her hands, then settling at her waist. Holding her still, he stepped forward and let his lips make contact with her forehead. "Liv, please, think about this." He cocked his head to the side, appealing to her with his eyes. "We just need to get the hell out of here. Let's get dinner or a drink or just go home, something, I don't know, Liv, I'm not trying to avoid it. I just can't discuss this here now."

She melted into his touch, letting her body sag into his the slightest bit. "I can't, El. I just- we can't." Her body was burning from his touch, not just because of the recent memory of what he could make her feel, but also because of the embarrassment. She couldn't even decide which was worse – that he'd seen her with her fingers inside herself while she moaned his name or that he'd damn near forcibly used her body for his pleasure and had seen her quite thoroughly enjoying it.

Suddenly discussing it seemed the worst idea ever; perhaps letting him run away from it was the answer. He could run away and pretend it had never happened and she would pretend it hadn't happened long enough to walk past his desk. She couldn't fathom coming back to work with him in the morning, changing clothes at her locker on occasion, catching a desperately needed catnap on the bunks. The air seemed to thicken around her, choking her at the thought that she might someday actually bump into Elliot in the room.

She shook her head, staving off a plea he wasn't making. "Why don't you go ahead? It'll look funny if we show up at the same time. I'll be down in a minute." Her lips were curved in a natural smile, as close to one as she could conjure up, and she looked up at her partner, an action so well ingrained in her mind and body that she almost found comfort in it.

Except that when she looked up, she realized he was closer than he usually was. Which promptly reminded her that he was still holding her, his arms snug against her back, his front still supporting her. She had to consciously force her hands up from where they rested lightly on his arms, forcing herself to push as the rock hard plane of his chest.

He wasn't supposed to be holding her, not when she was pretty sure she was walking away from him for good, not after he'd thoughtlessly ripped her body in the most sensitive of places. Continuing to shake her head, she applied a bit more pressure, albeit weak pressure given the spent condition of her muscles. "No, El, just-"

He stopped her from speaking, stealing the air from her body by pressing his mouth to hers. The man who'd been so callous and unfeeling during the most intimate of acts was gone; the man whose lips were gently massaging hers was her partner. The Elliot she knew so well, the Elliot she'd fallen so hard for, the Elliot she loved so desperately, her Elliot, was back. His lips were soft and sweet and tender, suckling on her top lip, carefully not causing further injury to her bottom one. He tasted her slowly, methodically letting his tongue move over every bit of her lips before softly tracing the crease between them, seeking permission to enter her body in a way he hadn't bothered the first time.

There wasn't even the slightest chance of her resisting his advance. Her mouth fell open, granting his request and allowing a sigh to escape at the same time. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue across hers, exploring her mouth the same way he'd investigated her lips. She didn't know how to reconcile Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But she didn't really have a chance to think about it, not with the way his attentions rendered her putty in his hands. As opposed to the man she'd just let fuck her, Olivia wasn't at all ashamed in front of the man kissing her. His love for her was so undeniably pure that she knew he accepted her, all of her, everything she did and said and was and felt. Because he was so willing to receive her, she couldn't even regret how eager she'd been for his touch or how quickly she'd found release with his encouragement.

She was willing to do it all again, knowing that he'd be much more careful the second time, certain that he would never let himself cause her more physical pain.

But rather than pulling at her clothes, rather than moving to undress her, he withdrew, his hands retreating to rest lightly at her waist, his mouth moving to graze her forehead. Her hands were still flush against his chest and she could feel the way he hesitated, the way he shook slightly. His hands moved up to her face, caressing her neck as he pulled back.

It made her heart soar to watch him in that instant, to see his cheeks blush red, to realize that he was embarrassed. Not because of the way they'd fucked, no, for the tough persona that Elliot opted to display most of the time that violence and physical need was normal, acceptable. It was the loving kiss way he'd kissed her, the tenderness of which displayed such vulnerability, that had humiliated him. Somehow she knew it was due to his fear of her rejection, that he thought she, a woman who was the embodiment of strength and fortitude, might lose respect for him for being soft.

She didn't know how to reassure him, as uncertain of their changing roles as he was. She smiled at him, moving her hands to his wrists and slowly stroking them down his forearms. She'd always trusted him and she didn't see any reason to stop simply because they'd given into feelings she'd been well aware were simmering under the surface from the day they'd been introduced.

He smiled back, accepting her unspoken support. His hands dropped back to his sides and he took a step toward the door. "Yeah, so, we'll, uh-"

She nodded. "Later."

He nodded back, reaching toward her once more, the knuckles of his right hand barely brushing across her cheek. "Definitely." He left then, taking his intoxicating scent and commanding presence with him.

The crib felt painfully empty as she sat down on the bed, mindful of the delicious soreness between her legs. She would be nervous, terribly so, to walk out at Elliot's side, heading for dinner or Mulligan's or her apartment, knowing she was about to have the most meaningful, most important, most life-altering discussion of her life. Frightening as the idea was, she knew there was nothing to worry about. Elliot loved her; she'd never been more convinced of anything in her life.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her rattled nerves. After a few minutes, she stood up and followed Elliot's path to the bullpen. All in all, she thought she was doing a rather admirable job of keeping the smug grin off her face on the way to her desk.

But then the desire to smile disappeared. Standing there, infringing rather flagrantly on Elliot's personal space, was Dani Beck.

Olivia was quite sure she was going to be sick.

Some nod to dignity, preposterous considering that she'd just been fucked in such a way that proved she had no dignity whatsoever, demanded that she not slap, shoot, or castrate anyone. She didn't even scream. She walked over to her desk, ignoring the way the blonde smiled and flirted with Elliot, refusing to admit that Elliot was eating it up, turning a blind eye to the hand Dani had placed ever-so-obviously on Elliot's forearm. Grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair, she prayed that Dani's delicate touch hurt the torn skin on her partner's arm.

She heard Elliot's voice, realizing he was introducing her to Dani. The urge to vomit returned and it took everything she had to not give in. Instead, she steadfastly met Dani's startled eyes, smiling smugly when Dani reported to Elliot that they'd met once before, snarling when Dani pointed out that Olivia hadn't revealed her name in the exchange.

Olivia glared at the couple, unsure how perfection had turned into the fucking nightmare from hell in less than two minutes. Her eyes met Elliot's, her shock and pain and anger blocking anything he might have tried to show her. She wanted to say something to him. She could feel the weight of everyone's eyes burning into her and it only made her want to speak more. She needed to think of something brilliant. Snarky and clever and cruel, yet subtle. But it was hard to think past the pain of her broken heart.

Elliot nodded toward Olivia's leather coat, clutched tightly in her hand, and smiled at her. "Ready to go?"

Her eyes widened momentarily. There was no way he actually thought she was going anywhere with him. She wished she had the privacy to tell him that he'd already gotten everything out of her that he was going to get, even though she doubted it would have much of an effect since fucking her had likely been the extent of his interest. She didn't bother to smile or even try to hide her disgust at the presence of the other woman. "No, I changed my mind."

Her eyes were still on his, displaying his surprise at her cold tone. "Liv?"

"Why don't you go with Dani instead?" She motioned toward the blonde without a glance in that direction. "I'm sure she'll be better company tonight than I'd be." Unless Elliot was particularly interested in having his testicles run through her food processor while they were still attached to his body.

His eyes narrowed and Olivia knew he was about to say something that would piss her off.

Except Dani's big, smiling mouth opened to fill the moment of quiet. "I'd love to join you. Where are you headed?"

Olivia smiled a hateful smile at her partner, fairly sure she looked kind of demented. "See, she's so eager."

He stepped toward her and Olivia noticed Dani's hands finally fall away from him. Olivia couldn't believe he hadn't noticed her touch. His voice dropped so low that Olivia could barely hear it and she somewhat enjoyed the way Dani strained to listen in. "I don't know what you're thinking, Liv, but it's not that. You and I have plans. We just talked about this."

Shaking her head, she tried her best to fake a smile. "No, really, it's fine. I'm not in the mood. Go with Dani." With a ridiculously supportive tone in her voice, she tried to drive the point home. "We can always hook up some other time, right?"

Elliot's skin paled two shades from the daggers in her eyes. "Liv-"

She couldn't stand it one more second. Three strides had her on the far side of Elliot's desk, well out of whisper range. So she raised her voice, honestly not caring enough to keep her words between them. "Go fuck yourself, Elliot." Hurt and betrayed as she felt, she expected that he'd follow her, that he'd chase her out of the building and beg her for another chance, that he'd grab her right there in the hallway and profess his love for her in front of everyone.

She would have accepted any of them.

But all she got as she rounded the corner was Elliot's furious voice, raised in a shout obviously meant for her to hear. "Drop dead."

She surprised herself, getting a whole twelve blocks from the precinct before the tears pouring down her face became so thick that she couldn't see through them. All she wanted was to be home, bathing in steaming hot water until all traces of Elliot had been removed from her skin. But she couldn't see and her muscles, the ones that Elliot had pushed to their limits, rebelled constantly, causing her to trip over her own damn feet every third step.

She ducked into the first bar she saw, shoving past people to get the bartender's attention. The mascara streaks probably did a hell of a lot in that department, as did her puffy, cut lip.

Twenty minutes later, she was carefully maneuvering down the steps to the subway, painfully aware of how her mother's death had come about while two shots of tequila and half a black and tan chaser swished around in her empty stomach. She wasn't in any shape to walk the rest of the way and she knew the subway would get her to her hot bath sooner than stumbling home. Not to mention the stabbing pain between her legs with each step she took that was oddly reminiscent of the knife her partner had thrust in her back.

By the time she was climbing back to street level, she'd traded in the hot, Elliot-tainted bath water for a scalding shower where she could watch as anything of his washed down her drain.

She shivered as she covered two of the three blocks to her apartment building, almost finding the humor left inside to laugh when she realized she was still strangling her warm, comfortable jacket. With only one block to go, she didn't see the point in putting it on. It would just become an obstacle in how quickly she could get under that stream of hot water, what she'd decided was her only chance at redemption.

But there was a whimper just as she reached for the cold metal railing. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make it ok. She was drunk. She was hurting, physically, emotionally. She wasn't going to be much help. But it sounded like a kid, a young toddler maybe, or even an animal. Whatever it was, someone or something was in pain and she couldn't justify walking away. Maybe if she could help someone, then someone would help her.

She turned down the alley next to her building. "Hello?" Her heels crunched on gravel as she walked, catching once on a bottle, causing her to stagger against the brick wall. "Are you ok?"

Two steps later, she found a dog, a dirty, dingy mutt with a cut on his snout and his foot caught against the wheel of the dumpster. Squatting down next to him, she smiled and thanked god that it wasn't a kid. Kids meant calling authorities, answering questions, indefinite postponing of her getting clean. Technically, she should call animal control for a stray. But the poor thing looked as horrible as she felt and she took pity on it. Tentatively, she stretched out her hand, testing to see if he would bite. When he eagerly licked her fingers, she couldn't help but giggle.

"Come on, honey, let's get you out of here, huh?" She shifted closer, feeling her way down his front leg until she found where his paw was wedged. The poor dog whimpered as she twisted his foot, but he seemed fine when she finagled it free.

Once he realized he wasn't caught, he trotted further down the alley, disappearing into the darkness without a backward glance. Irritated that she'd managed to be used for someone else's benefit yet again, she took a deep breath and stood up.

Her head spun from the alcohol and her hand grabbed the edge of the dumpster to steady herself. It occurred to her that a shower might actually be dangerous in her condition, but there was no way she was going to not scrub his fluids from her body.

"I've been waiting for you."

She spun around, rather, she tried to, but she was still drunk. Her eyes widened in recognition and her hand instinctively reached for her gun.

But he was sober and he'd had a chance to plan.

There was a flash of beige in front of her eyes that suddenly covered her mouth and nose. She felt his hands, the one holding something over her face and the other closing around her throat. He shoved her hard, throwing her into the wall. In her state, she was helpless, and her head snapped back like a ragdoll, smashing hard into the brick.

The hit might have dazed her, except her consciousness was already fading, her eyes closing against her will. She felt her knees give, leaving her body supported by his hands. Then her hands released, one falling from her holster, not having managed to unsnap it, the other finally relaxing the chokehold she'd had on her coat.

And then there was nothing.


	13. T Minus 7 Days

T minus 7 days

Of all the god damned, shitty luck in the world, Elliot Stabler was pretty fucking certain his was the absolute worst.

Because he'd been sure, as he left the crib with a spring in his step and a smug grin on his face and a nameless happy tune humming through his lips, that he was the luckiest fucker in all of history. But he'd only gotten to the top of the stairs before he noticed a woman waiting by his desk and his mood fell. Halfway down the steps, he realized there was something kind of familiar about her. At the bottom of the steps he heard her voice, telling Lake she was waiting for someone, and immediately recognized it. He thought for a moment about making a dash for the door, hoping he could disappear without being seen.

And then he hesitated, very seriously considering going back to the crib and kissing Olivia a few million more times. The thought gave him pause because he wasn't sure how he'd ever resisted the idea, let alone how he was supposed to once he'd found out how very sweet her lips tasted. Her lips were delicious. So was her tongue and her breath and her skin. He couldn't believe she'd let him touch her. He couldn't believe she'd let him touch her like that. He couldn't believe she'd let him take her like that. He couldn't believe anything short of the rapture had convinced him to leave his beautiful, sexy, amazing partner's side, even if it was only long enough to give the pretense to anyone watching that they hadn't just fucked in the crib and weren't heading out together to have a discussion that he very much hoped would end with them fucking someplace more private.

He shook his head, correcting himself. He wasn't going to fuck her again. He wasn't ever going to fuck her again. He was going to hopefully take her home and make love to her. He corrected himself again; he wasn't going to make love to her, he was going to make up for the pain he knew he'd caused her. He was going to worship every inch of her spectacular body until he passed out. And as soon as he woke up, he'd do it again and again.

The thought was his undoing because the thought of loving her over and over pulled a groan from his lips.

And apparently having been waiting for him for some time, Dani Beck turned quickly at the sound. She smiled at him, baring her teeth and opening her mouth.

She was so damn happy to see him and all he could think of was that she had really big teeth. And she had a lot of them too. Like more than most humans. In fact, for some odd reason she kind of reminded him of a horse. He shook his head, wondering why he'd ever been so hard up that he'd willingly kissed her. He'd been more attracted to cross-dressing pros than he ever was to the woman who'd stupidly tried to replace Olivia Benson.

He reluctantly approached her, rationalizing that if he talked really, really quickly, he'd be able to get rid of the interloper before Olivia had to see her. Considering the way Olivia had somehow decided, without a shred of fact, he was some kind of male slut who'd fucked every woman in town, he thought it might be best for her to not see him talking to any women until he set her straight. First and foremost, he wanted her to know that while everyone "knew" about him and Dani, what everyone had seen was the extent of their relationship. He'd been drinking and he'd been lonely and he'd missed the shit out of his real partner and out of some desperate fear that Dani might leave him too, he'd made the move he'd always been afraid to make with Olivia.

Two seconds in Dani's presence left him uncomfortable and nervous and slightly sick. Coupled with the intense fear that Olivia was about to show up and see what would, in her eyes, be quite possibly the biggest betrayal of all time, he was paralyzed. At the moment when he really needed to keep his thoughts together and his mind focused, he could only stare at Dani and wonder why the hell he'd ever cared if she left.

He was in a fog. Words, thoughts, actions, everything, failed him. The air was thick and choked him, seeming to get worse when Dani's hand landed on his forearm. It hurt like hell, the edge of her silver watch pressing painfully into one of the slices Olivia's nails had caused in his skin.

She was talking, saying something, but he couldn't quite hear it or understand it. Something about thinking a lot. Something changing things. Something about the future. Something about an undeniable bond.

He tore his eyes from the stairs where they'd been locked keeping watch for Liv and wondered how the hell Dani knew anything about the relationship he shared with his partner. She seemed happy that he was looking back at her, reading acceptance in his silent stupor.

And, in keeping with his unfathomable luck, Olivia chose right then to reappear. Exactly when he was standing there, staring at Dani, letting Dani's hands touch him. He thought about jerking away, running to Olivia and swearing it was truly all a coincidence, but with the way Dani was standing there was a chance Olivia couldn't see the point of contact and might not realize one existed. She'd be heartbroken if she saw it, if she thought he was flirting with a woman she believed had meant something to him. Pulling away would only draw attention to the fact that Dani was touching him. He had to protect Olivia, had to keep her from hurting the way he knew she would if she thought he would do something like that.

So he sucked it up and pretended Dani's touch didn't make his skin crawl.

He was still in a daze as he tried to talk, realizing Olivia wouldn't even know who the woman was. Time seemed to speed up at his brain slowed down. Olivia had met Dani previously. Olivia was mad. Olivia was well aware that Dani had her hands on his skin. Olivia was leaving.

Without him.

Elliot Stabler had never been suicidal, not really, but he wanted to die. Olivia thought he'd betrayed her and she was leaving and he was sure if he let her leave without him then she would never let him make up his physical transgressions on her. She might never let him touch her again. And that would kill him.

He tried to get her to understand, tried to remind her that they were different than they had been, tried to tell her he wasn't above falling to his knees and begging her in front of a room full of witnesses. Confused and impaired as he was, he couldn't read her. She seemed mad, but she was smiling. And then she was telling him to go out with Dani. The thought alone turned his stomach; it only got worse when he realized she meant instead of her.

He'd already learned that Dani would not, could not replace Olivia in any part of his life.

She was leaving and he was frozen. It cut him to the quick to think that she wouldn't believe him, to know that she'd felt the way he'd kissed her and cleaned her lip and combed her hair and didn't know how much she meant to him, to watch her turn her back on him after he'd shown her how truly vulnerable he was when it came to her.

The moment she was gone, the fog seemed to lift a little, leaving him staring back at Dani. Her smile hadn't faded any and she looked eager. "Ready?"

He stared at her, wondering what was wrong with her.

Her grin didn't fade. "I don't know how you work with her. She's such a bitch." She reached out for him again, trying to wrap her sickening hands around his. "Let's get out of here so we can talk." Her eyes fell and she peeked up at him through her lashes with an irritatingly futile flirtatious expression. "Or something."

And then he realized it was all her fault. Once again, she'd come into his life when he was helpless and tried to take something that wasn't hers, tried to tarnish something clean and pure, tried to make him forget the woman who meant everything to him. He snarled at her, aiming all of his anger and hate and hurt at her, yanking his arms out of her grasp.

"Don't you ever say something like that about her again. Get the fuck away from me."

She laughed, as though she thought it was funny. "Ok, ok, partners are off limits." She winked at him. "Good thing we're not partners anymore."

He wanted to say that they'd never been partners, that whatever feelings he'd shown to her had simply been misplaced feelings for Olivia that he didn't know what to do with, that she meant nothing to him. But words failed him when he shouted at her, instead finding a stupid, childish insult that he half wished would happen. "Drop dead!"

His legs were like lead, failing him when he needed them most. He couldn't chase Olivia. He couldn't follow her and beg her to understand. He couldn't do anything but flop into his chair. He was exhausted. The surge of energy that had allowed him to get up and air out the crib and prod Olivia up off the floor where they'd collapsed and allowed him to talk her through her anxiety following what he'd done to her and had supported her weight when she'd fallen into him at his kiss – it was gone. As always, all of his strength had left him, siding with Olivia. Every time she left him, even if was only to go home for the night, he felt his strength disappear. He wondered if that was because he didn't actually have any strength. He had Olivia; she was his strength. As long as he had her by his side, he was undefeatable. But without her, he was an empty shell, pathetic and broken and weak.

Dani must have left. Most women left after he shouted at them. Besides, with Dani's rather explosive, violent temper that made him look like a tame little lamb, Lake's words would have merited a response, rather than the silence that answered them.

"So, who's the fox?"

Elliot looked at him, unable to come up with a response. Fin was looking too and Elliot hoped he would chime in. But both men simply stared at him, looking for something. He shrugged, not quite sure what they were getting at, wondering if maybe they somehow knew what had happened in the crib. "You know Liv."

Elliot watched as Fin's face broke into a smile before he ducked down. Lake didn't smile as he looked between his partner, who seemed to know what was going on, and Elliot, who did not. "Yeah, I know Liv."

Elliot glared at the younger man, wondering why he had to decide to be chatty right then. "So why'd you ask?"

Lake's eyes turned to his partner, the man who was continuing to find quite a bit of amusement in the exchange. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Fin glanced at Elliot, but looked away immediately when he found the man's eyes locked on him. "Liv's the fox. What are you talking about?"

Lake shrugged, realizing he wasn't getting anywhere. "Never mind."

Fin nodded. "Good man."

It took a long time before Elliot realized he needed to stick with his original plan. The plan that had calmed Olivia down in the crib, the plan that would result in him getting to kiss her and hold her and love her.

It took even longer for his body to feel steady enough to allow him to walk. After what he'd done, the way he'd disrespected her body, the way he'd debased their relationship, his muscles were wasted. It had taken a hell of a lot of energy to fuck her the way he had. The only way to recover from the workout was to curl up around her in bed, holding her close to him as he slept, knowing he could be near her forever.

Finally, he managed to stand, forcing one leg in front of the other as he followed her usual path home. He felt horrible, knowing that as tired as he was, she had to feel worse. His memory flashed back to the way it had felt when he was pounding into her, so forcefully, so carelessly, knowing that even though she was wet, her body was tight. He knew that he'd hurt her, that she'd needed more of a warning, that she hadn't been ready for him to enter her. And it made him especially sorry to know that even though she'd come so hard in his arms, her body had tensed in those seconds, tightening around him even more, and he'd been so far gone at that point that he hadn't consciously realized he was tearing her skin, stretching her body further than she could take, forcing himself into her, abusing her tender center while he sought the same release. She'd come, but he'd forced her.

He swallowed the bile in his throat, recalling all too well the words they told their victims. The body doesn't know what the brain does. The body doesn't care who's touching it. The body could find sexual release even if the brain hadn't given any consent to the encounter.

He had to offer her the opportunity to turn him in, to tell Cragen he'd attacked her. He hadn't intended to rape her and he sorely hoped that wasn't the case, but he needed her to tell him that, to tell him that although it was rough and harsh it was something she wanted. And if, on the surprisingly serendipitous chance, she said that was the case, he would pledge to her that he'd never touch her when he was angry ever again. He would love her the way he'd always wanted to.

His pace quickened, covering the distance faster than he ever had. Still, it felt like forever before he found her block. He looked up at her windows, hoping to see her, maybe even looking out in the hopes that he would follow. But her windows were dark and it hurt to think that she'd gone to bed, perhaps crying at the thought he was out with Dani.

As he took the final few steps to her door, something caught his attention. Turning to the right, his eyes tried to focus down the alley. It had to be instinct, he realized, after so many years of being a cop, because he saw something on the ground and he couldn't ignore it. As desperate as he was to pound on her door until she let him in, the lump on the ground demanded his attention.

He approached it slowly, suspicious of whatever had caught his attention.

The moment he stepped close enough to pick it out clearly in the dim light, his heart stopped. The last bit of instinct caused him to reach for his phone even as his legs gave out. He knew why her windows were dark. He knew he wouldn't be pounding on her door and begging for her forgiveness.

He slumped into a sitting position on the filthy ground of the alley, seeing streaks of blood on the dumpster beside him and praying that she hadn't been hurt too badly, clutching her leather jacket in his hands, hugging it to him like it was his last link to her.

He'd never been so scared in his life to know that it really was.


	14. T Minus 6 Days, part 1

T Minus 6 Days

The fucking police department took fucking forever. He'd called it in, as he'd been trained to do, gave his badge number, requested crime scene, a supervisor on scene, even requested his captain be notified.

At least, he must have because they were there. Although it felt like the end of time had come and gone, the alley was awash with blue and red lights, their strobe effect making his head hurt. The uniforms had made it on scene first, followed by an ambulance crew. Elliot wasn't sure what to feel about that; he could be happy there was a chance that she was lying nearby injured or he could be terrified that she was lying nearby injured and unable to speak.

Cragen and Fin arrived within a few minutes of one another. Cragen was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt and for a moment of reprieve from his terror, Elliot considered how strange it was to see the man out of his normal suits. Cragen was held up, gathering information from the officers on the scene.

Fin approached him slowly, his expression tense and his eyes narrowed. He chose to speak when he was still several feet away. "Hey, man."

Elliot stared at him, trying to figure out if Fin was acting strange or if it was simply that Elliot's brain had stopped working when he realized something had happened to Olivia after he'd hurt her. He couldn't work out the strength to speak; he shrugged instead.

"You all right?" Fin was staying back, his hands dug deep down in his pockets. It occurred to Elliot that the man might actually be afraid of him, of his bent toward sudden instability.

Elliot's eyes narrowed further. He jerked up from where he was slumped against the wall. "What the-"

Fin held up a hand. "Don't. I know."

Pissed off both at the fact that Fin had cut off the beginning of what might have been a pressure-releasing tirade and at the idea that Fin thought he knew anything about how he was feeling, he let himself get worked up. He started to hyperventilate, knowing his face was turning red in anger. "The fuck you do."

"I know Cragen is going to be pissed as shit when he walks over here and finds out you haven't done anything besides sit here and cry." Fin's voice paused long enough for Elliot to meet his eyes. "Your eyes are all red, Elliot. Go inside, clean yourself up."

Realizing that Fin was trying to help him, his anger died quickly. His energy dried up too, leaving him to sag back against the wall the way he'd been when his coworkers had arrived. He appreciated the suggestion, but he couldn't move, couldn't leave the scene, not as long as there was still the hope that Olivia might be unconscious while otherwise uninjured somewhere close.

Cragen's approach was notably faster than Fin's had been. He strode right up to Elliot, opening his mouth to speak right away, but pausing when he saw the red eyes and tear tracks. He was disappointed as he sighed. "Elliot, why don't you tell me what happened here?"

Elliot's attention snapped to attention immediately, recognizing the tone. It was the same one he used when he thought he was talking to someone crazy. Someone crazy who was potentially dangerous. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His blood was boiling at the suggestion, reading between the lines to find an imaginary accusation that he'd done something to hurt Olivia.

Cragen sighed, clearly not in the mood to deal with a violent, irritated Elliot. Olivia was typically the one who dealt with him in that situation. "The uniforms haven't found anything to indicate trouble here, Elliot."

Elliot glared at both men in front of him. "And what exactly did they make of the blood on the dumpster? Maybe someone was redecorating?"

"You got half the department out here at this hour on the grounds that an officer had been attacked and abducted." His eyes darted to the large group of cops who were milling around, looking more bored than busy. "Do you have any evidence that a crime was committed?"

Elliot lifted his fist, holding her jacket up for their inspection. "She was carrying this when she left the office tonight. I found it next to the dumpster. You know, the one with the blood streaks on it."

Cragen's eyes darted to Fin rather than dare meet Elliot's. "She could have dropped it, Elliot. That's hardly cause for calling the cavalry. Did you try knocking on her door?"

Elliot was on his feet in a second, leaning into Cragen's space. "Do you really think she'd hang out in her apartment while the entire fucking NYPD descended around her building?"

Cragen remained still, not giving in to Elliot's furious intimidation. "Did you try her apartment?"

Elliot was exasperated, shaking her jacket at him. "She carries this damn coat with her all the time. She wears it in the middle of July. She didn't drop it."

Cragen shook his head, refusing to answer. "Did you try her apartment?"

Elliot didn't answer, but Fin spoke up in the silence. "I'll have a look, cap."

By the time Fin had climbed the front steps, Elliot and Cragen were on his heels. Fin tried the door, only to discover that he needed a code. He peeked through the glass doors, looking for someone he could flash his badge at to get the door opened. Elliot reached past him, plugging Olivia's code into the keypad and unlocking the door. He was waiting for the question, ready to explain that he knew the code because he'd helped her move in five years earlier. Anything to protect Olivia's reputation against stronger suspicion that she was having an affair with him.

Elliot took the lead then, climbing the steps three at a time, irrationally hoping that he was wrong, that Olivia had drunk some wine before she went to sleep and was sound asleep despite the police presence outside. He pounded on her door, loud enough and long enough to wake three of her neighbors.

Half triumphant and half crushed, he turned to his boss. "Still think she's sleeping?"

Entirely irritated that she hadn't opened the door, Cragen sighed again. "Open it."

Elliot's mouth actually fell open as Fin studied his shoes. Shock gave way to anger as Elliot's eyes narrowed again. "How exactly do you expect me to do that? With my Irish fucking charm?"

Fin's shoes continued to be interesting, even as he suggested that Munch had once given him a key in case, in Munch's own words, he ever got up the nerve to end his mental torment and leave the mortal coil.

Cragen stared Elliot down. "You've been partners for ten years, Elliot. Don't you have a key?"

"Of course I don't have a key. I'm usually the one she's trying to avoid when she won't answer the door. Giving me a key would defeat the purpose." As much as he hated to reveal that he'd spent more than one evening, begging her to open the door before her neighbors called in a domestic disturbance, he figured honestly was more important than saving face when Olivia was in trouble. And hell, he was surprised his fist hadn't left an indentation in her door after so many years.

"I'll get the officers to crack it." Cragen took two steps back toward the stairwell.

Fin looked up, realizing the situation wasn't nearly so private as to require his tact. He nodded toward her jacket. "Try her coat." It was obvious he didn't want to make the suggestion, to imply that he believed Elliot hadn't made a mistake, to call attention to the fact that Olivia hardly would have been able to leave her coat in the street with her keys in the pocket.

Embarrassed that he hadn't thought to check it himself, Elliot busied himself with checking the pockets. He felt something in the left one, knowing without question what it was the moment his fingers closed around it, but pulling it out to display her badge for the other two men. From the right pocket, he produced her key ring, fitting her key into her lock, refusing to think about what it would have taken to separate Olivia from her badge.

The door swung open, pitch blackness greeting the men. The apartment seemed too still. He hated being there without Olivia, hated the reason he was there even more. As he switched on the lights, he remembered two nights earlier, when he'd spent the night on her couch, so content to know that she was in the bedroom. Cragen and Fin poked around, trying to satisfy some definition of a search so that Olivia wouldn't suffer the degradation of a full police search of her private space. Elliot couldn't bring himself to do it, instead found a wall to support him as he half collapsed under the let down that Cragen had unwittingly caused. Some part of him had really started to hope that they'd meet her, half-asleep and thoroughly affronted, in the hallway, demanding that they explain why they were there.

Elliot was leaning on the kitchen doorway, trying and failing to feel nothing as his eyes perused the clean room. He couldn't help but recall watching her talk to Eli, remembering the tender way she'd cared for the boy. He could practically hear her sweet, silly voice, calling him names, while she prepared to feed him. It took him a while to recall what she'd called him, to remember the intimacy of the moment when Mr. Grouchy Pants had made his presence known. He smiled at the memory, at the hope there would be more mornings where he could stroll into her kitchen half-dressed and see her bonding with his son.

"Found this under the edge of the couch." Fin approached, holding out his hand while checking to make sure Cragen was out of sight. "I'm betting it's yours."

Elliot's eyes focused on the outstretched hand, seeing the blue rattle of Eli's that must have fallen out of his carrier. He took it, thrusting it into his pocket. Technically it was wrong to take something without letting anyone else see it, but he knew it had nothing to do with her disappearance and that its presence would only serve to impugn her reputation. His eyes darted up to Fin's, appreciating the other man's continual discretion, which he recognized was in deference to Olivia, as opposed to himself. "Thanks, Fin."

"Don't mention it." He grinned. "Really. Don't."

Elliot nodded, recognizing if not appreciating the joke.

His hand fell lightly against Elliot's shoulder as he stepped away. "We'll find her."

Elliot nodded again, desperate to believe it, unable to comprehend anything else.

"We will. Now that Cragen's satisfied you're not a paranoid stalker."

When Cragen finally approached them, Elliot fought back the urge to declare he'd told them so. Rather than admitting he'd been wrong, the captain ushered them towards the door. "Let's see if crime scene has gotten here yet."

Elliot hung back from them, taking a few last looks around her space, imaging that she might appear at any moment, praying that he'd be welcome there again, hoping he wouldn't be sleeping on the couch anymore. Finally, he turned off the lights and pulled the door shut behind him, slipping her keys into his pocket.

The crime scene unit had arrived and been working while they were gone, taking samples of the blood and dusting everything they could find for prints. Elliot knew it was a long shot since it would probably take years to interview everyone whose fingerprints they'd found, but he was hoping one of them would set off alarm bells. Short of that, there wasn't much for them to go on.

Cragen pulled Elliot aside, speaking to him quietly. "You need to go home. Get some sleep."

It was the most preposterous suggestion he had ever heard and was about to voice as much.

But Cragen kept talking, not allowing the argument to even start. "You look like hell and you're no good to anyone here at the moment. You know they'll be in contact with you." He bit his lip as he looked away, not quite able to meet Elliot's eyes. "You're the closest person to her, Elliot, and there are a few hundred witnesses to the fact that you've been pretty angry with her."

Elliot suddenly understood why Cragen had looked away. "What the hell are you implying?"

Cragen winced. "I'm saying IAB will be called in. They'll question you and you better be pretty fucking calm they do or you'll never be any good to her."

"We were fighting. We fight all the time. I would never hurt her." Even as he spoke, he knew that was untrue, knew that his angry words hurt her all the time. He almost corrected himself, almost appended his statement to say that he would never physically hurt her, but as his mind flashed to the cruel, violent way he'd fucked her just that evening, he knew that wasn't true either. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his own lie.

"I want you in early tomorrow. I want to have them question you as soon as possible so they can clear you. Olivia needs you looking for her." Cragen nodded toward Fin who'd been standing off to the side. "Once she's back, Elliot, the three of us need to sit down and discuss this."

Elliot didn't care if Fin was uncomfortable or not. He didn't care if Cragen was finally right on the money about their relationship. He couldn't let Olivia's name be besmirched while she wasn't there to defend herself. "Just what the fuck does that mean?"

Fin's eyes widened as his shoes regained their importance in his life. Cragen pursed his lips, annoyed that Elliot wouldn't ever let anything go. "It means that I was trying to pretend you weren't outside your partner's building at midnight when we all heard you fighting earlier and have no legitimate work-related reason to be here."

So perhaps screaming drop dead at Dani had been a bad idea, if only because it had caught the captain's attention. He glared at the man in front of him, hating him for making the assumption that Olivia was going to let him in for a booty call. Olivia deserved better from her boss. Because where Elliot had broken, given into the pressure his body created, taken Olivia's body for his use, it hadn't been Olivia's fault. She hadn't given in; in fact, she'd shouted at him to leave at the risk of her telling Cragen.

He wanted to spare her the trouble; he wanted to turn himself in. But he deferred to Olivia, deciding that it was up to her, as to whether or not to reveal what had happened between them.

Still he had to answer his boss since he'd been the one to force the older man to voice the thought. "I was coming over to apologize for being a jerk earlier."

Cragen was unimpressed, unable to comprehend that he was actually getting the truth. "And you couldn't use the phone?"

"She would have hung up on me. Provided she even answered in the first place."

Cragen's eyes darted to Fin's downturned face as he took a deep breath. "So you're telling me it's one-sided."

Elliot looked down, his instincts telling him to run away from something so personal. He wasn't ready to confess his feelings to a priest, let alone his boss. He hadn't even really told Olivia; he'd simply hoped she could read him. But he had to protect Olivia, and no amount of pathetic revelations would ever hurt him enough to outweigh his desire to take care of her. Sucking in air that felt cold and sharp in his lungs, he nodded with closed eyes and admitted something he feared was completely true. "Yeah. It's all me." He forced his eyes to open, trying to gauge Cragen's response as he added a complete lie into the mix to muddy the waters somewhat. "Liv doesn't have any fucking clue and she wouldn't come near me if she did."

Fin couldn't pretend to not hear anymore and started backing away, trying his best to fade into invisibility. For all that the other two noticed, he could have dressed up like a clown and sung Mr. Roboto.

Cragen's eyes softened, considering for the first time that the relationship he'd done his damnedest not to see for the past few years had perhaps never existed except in his head. "Go home. I'll call you as soon as I find anything out." He waved at Fin several times before he finally caught his attention. "Fin, take Elliot home."

Fin grimaced, preferring to stay as far out of the personal lives of his coworkers as he could and feeling that going to their houses was way too intimate, except in emergencies. "Don't tell me I gotta make sure he stays there."

Cragen shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on Elliot's. "You're not going to be missing when IAB comes to look for you, are you?"

He hated IAB. But he hated the idea he'd be cut out of the loop and unable to help his partner even more. "I'll be there. I'll be at work at six. There's no chance in hell I'm going to be out of contact until Olivia tells me to fuck off."

Fin couldn't help the grin that popped up. "Didn't she tell you that tonight?"

Elliot's eyes darted to him, angry that he'd finally decided to join in. "She might have been talking to Dani."

Cragen took in a sharp breath and rolled his eyes. "Five hours is not enough time before I have to see you people."

Fin nodded toward his car. "Let's go. Don't give me shit, all right?"

Elliot followed mutely, his acquiescence the closest he could get to agreeing. He kept quiet as he climbed into the car, folding Olivia's coat on his lap, directing Fin to his apartment. His legs were heavy as he found his way to his couch, knowing his bedroom was just too far to go. He thought about stripping out of the clothes he'd been in for so long, but he couldn't. He hated to think of how he'd been completely dressed while he'd fucked Liv, but he had to acknowledge that her scent lingered heavily on them, having been pressed so intimately against her. He couldn't bear to remove them, to lose the link that he had to having touched her.

He wondered if the others had been as aware of her scent on him as he was. He could recognize her scent anywhere, especially the narcotic-like effects it had on him. He questioned anyone else knew it so well. It was much stronger than normal to him because as much time as he typically spent with her, he rarely was in physical contact with her and certainly never so much for so long. Of course, he was pretty sure he was more sensitive to the lingering presence of his partner than anyone else would be. What was so painfully obvious to him might have passed unnoticed by Fin and Cragen.

Sometimes over the years, he'd thought about the insanely delicious way she smelled, the way it had driven him crazy for years, the way he'd always been hesitant to wash the clothes that smelled of her, even when he'd been married. More than once, he'd decided her scent was some sort of pheromone, something meant for him, something only he could pick up.

Maybe that was why he'd been drawn back to the crib when he'd thought she was sleeping. Because she hadn't been and perhaps her body had been calling out for him, knowing that his body would answer, even if he didn't know why he was.

He pressed her jacket to his nose, inhaling her scent deeply, closing his eyes to fully focus on the memory of being inside her. His body responded immediately, growing so hard so fast that he felt like a damn twelve-year-old, and he half expected he'd come in his pants. Still, he refused the instinct to reach for himself, knowing that he deserved no pleasure at the thought of her, not until she told him it was ok. When she was back and safe and if she wanted him to get off at the thought of her taut body stretching around him, then he would let himself. Not a minute sooner.

Uncomfortable and unhappy and thinking of his partner, with whom he was exactly in tune as usual although neither knew it, he drifted off into a nightmare filled sleep.


	15. T Minus 6 Days, part 2

T Minus 6 Days, cont'd

If he got any rest at all, he wasn't aware of it. There was a period of unconsciousness, which he would begrudgingly admit, only because at one point that he couldn't recall, the sky outside his window had gone from dark to bright.

For a moment, he lay there, one of the mismatched throw pillows over his face, regretting that he'd taken the realtor's advice and leased an east-facing place. The giddy woman who'd convinced him to buy it had sold him on the idea of saving the planet by reducing his electricity bills since the eastern exposure would keep half of his apartment bright as could be most of the day and even into the evening in the summer months. It hadn't made a bit of difference to him, not really, since he rarely saw home during day light hours anyway, day light savings time be damned. He'd listened to her only because she'd sort of reminded him of Olivia, provided Olivia was on crack and an extremely gregarious blonde, but still, the thought of Olivia had sold the apartment.

Of course east-facing windows also meant that on those few and far between days where Elliot was trying to sleep, the sun would have him up at, quite literally, the crack of dawn. He thought about getting up and going to the bedroom, his body instinctively wanting more rest, except that his living room and his bedroom shared the same side of the apartment and he knew there would be no reprieve in the bedroom.

And it only took another second for him to remember that he had no business sleeping, not when his partner was missing. He jerked fully awake, throwing aside the blanket he'd pulled over himself during the night. He hated himself for stretching out on his couch, seeking comfort and warmth and rest while his partner was god-knows-where having god-knows-what done to her.

Energized at the thought of finding her, he headed for his bathroom, peeling off his clothes and turning on the shower controls. It wasn't six yet; Cragen wouldn't let him in the building. But as he climbed in the shower, he found himself paralyzed, unable to put his body under the stream. Because he'd be washing off Olivia. Although there had barely been skin contact between them, there was one part of him, uncomfortably crusted with their combined juices that had touched her, that had been inside of her. It was all he had to prove to himself that it had happened. With the way he'd positioned her, she hadn't had a chance to mark him.

As the steam from the shower humidified the air, it breathed life into the clothing he'd been wearing, into the crust on his body, filling the air with her scent, the one he knew so well, and the one he'd only discovered the day before, the physical proof of her body's reaction to him. It seemed thick enough to choke him and he thrust himself under the spray, scalding his skin, stripping away her essence from his body.

The thick, steamy air made him sick, taunting him that he was trying to hold onto something that she might not have even wanted. He gagged suddenly, thinking he was fondly attached to the physical evidence that he'd raped his partner so brutally.

He sank to his knees, adjusting the temperature of the water until it was unbearably hot, burning his skin mercilessly. He deserved no mercy; he hadn't shown her any. But even as he scrubbed his skin roughly, ripping open the slices her sharp nails had left on his arms, her scent didn't fade.

He reached out of the enclosure, grabbing his clothes and throwing them in the bottom of the shower. He held them under the hot water, soaking each piece one at a time, scrubbing them against the tiles, making sure all memory of her was gone. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to know he'd hurt her, to know he'd found pleasure in her pain.

His energy was spent, his arms were bleeding, his skin was burning, his heart was breaking for what he'd done to her. And still, still he knew that the discomfort he felt was nothing compared to how she had suffered at his hands, how she was suffering at the hands of whoever had taken her. His shoulders slumped forward, his hands pressing into his eyes, his elbows coming to rest on his thighs.

He cried. He sobbed and howled and screamed at the injustice of it all, hating himself and the world. He cried long after the burning heat of the water turned to stinging cold. He cried as his body shivered under the spray, refusing to allow himself the comfort of turning it off.

His eyes fell on the clothes, the ones he'd so viciously cleaned as though it might clean the sin from his soul, and he hated himself a little more, for removing any traces he had of her. Pulling the sopping mess against his face, he tried to pick out her scent. Not finding it, he curled up further, wishing he could die, knowing Olivia deserved the right to kill him.

It was the sound of his phone ringing continuously that woke him from his hysteria. He heard it, recognized the importance of picking up any calls while Olivia was missing. He knew it could be Cragen, calling with an update. Hell, it could be Olivia calling to say that she'd escaped and needed a ride home. Still, even though he was with it enough to turn off the shower and wrap himself in a towel, he couldn't find the strength to answer the phone. The devil on his shoulder whispered that it might well be Cragen, calling to say they'd found her, that she'd been raped, that she'd been killed, that she'd left a note saying he'd raped her and that they'd found his fucking DNA inside her.

He collapsed on his bed, still shivering from the shower, watching as his arms bled into the white of the towel. He couldn't find the strength to move any further, despite his desire to find her, despite his promise to report to work so he could be grilled by IAB. Like always, his strength had run off with Olivia, following her like a lovesick puppy and abandoning him without an afterthought.

The pounding on the door, on the other hand, well, that was harder to ignore. It didn't even start as regular knocking. It began as a hideously loud, harsh pounding and only increased in intensity. Because it was making his headache worse, he managed to collect himself off the bed and opened the door. Expecting it was IAB coming to haul his miserable ass off to prison, he didn't bother to check before he opened the door.

He wished he had checked when his eyes fell on Lake and Fin, if for no other reason than because he was dressed only in a towel, which just so happened to have streaks of blood on it.

"Damn, we thought you were in the wind." Lake seemed truly disappointed that he hadn't been able to put out an APB on his coworker.

Fin glared at Lake. "I knew you weren't going anywhere until we know where Liv is."

Lake grinned, thinking his jokes would be appreciated. "Unless they're planning to run off together."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Elliot fought back the urge to strike Lake only because he honestly didn't have the energy to punch anyone. "Who sent you? Cragen or IAB?"

Fin winced, knowing his words weren't welcome. "Cragen, but we passed IAB on our way out."

"I'll go get dressed." He was exhausted, having blown all the energy he had left on his fit in the shower. But he rationalized that he needed to go to the precinct so he would know the minute anyone found anything out. He didn't want to have to sit around waiting for the phone call. Mindful of the condition of his arms, he pulled a long sleeve shirt on under his dress shirt. He figured he already looked crazy enough, he didn't need to add bloody stains on his shirt to the mix.

When he returned to the living room, he saw Fin displaying utter annoyance and quite possibly hatred for his partner. Lake was uninterested in Fin's attitude as he had found something far more interesting. Once again seething with anger and infused with the energy it brought, Elliot lunged across the room, snatching the brown envelope from the younger man's nosy fingers.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Lake grinned like an asshole, thinking he'd found something amusing and fun. "So you guys really are, huh?"

Fin knocked his partner in the shoulder. "I told you not to touch shit that wasn't yours."

Elliot was angry as hell, refusing to focus on the images in the photographs. They were the cause of it all, really. The reason he'd been so fucking pissed off at Olivia, even though it really hadn't been her fault. "It's none of your fucking business, Lake. You got that?"

Reading something in his eyes, Lake nodded mutely. "I won't tell anybody about you two living together."

Elliot's rage boiled over, his hands reaching out angrily to grab Lake by the collar, lifting Lake's feet off the ground as he shoved him into the wall. "You stay the hell out of it! You don't have a god damned clue what's going on, so don't think you do."

Fin's hands fell on Elliot's forearms, pushing him away. "He's an asshole, Elliot. It's not worth it. Nobody's going to say nothing cause nobody saw nothing." Fin insinuated himself between them. "Besides, you've already got a meeting with IAB over kidnapping one of your coworkers. Another one turns up dead and it's going to look real bad."

He wasn't exactly satisfied, but he knew Fin was right. Stepping back, he growled. "He deserves it."

"Yeah, he does, but like I said, nothing is leaving here. What you do on your own time isn't any of my business." Fin picked the envelope up off the floor, pushing the pictures the rest of the way inside without looking at them, and set it back on the coffee table.

Elliot's eyes followed the packet, knowing it had looked as damning to them as it had to Kathy and the lawyers. Looking down, he shook his head. "It's not what it looks like."

Lake raised his hands in surrender. "We're supposed to bring you to the precinct. Touch me like that again and we'll be making a stop at the hospital."

Elliot stepped forward, more than willing to fight it out with Lake to prove his superiority. Fin was standing off to the side, not about to get a black eye for getting between them again. But as he went to reach for the other man, his mind drew up an imaginary Olivia, who like the real one, would chance the black eye to keep her partner out of trouble. He hung his head, every bit as embarrassed as he would have been had she really been there to stop him.

Eventually he glared up at Lake, seeing some relief in avoiding a fight. "You say whatever you want about me, ok? I don't give a shit. But you leave Olivia out of it."

Lake didn't want to accept defeat, but he nodded, probably deciding it was best option available. "Whatever." He looked at Fin, his lack of understanding of the dynamic in the department had never been more clear. "Are we done here?"

Fin looked to Elliot, who nodded and followed them to the door with one last glance at that damn brown envelope. It still struck him by how cruel its contents were. And in the interest of protecting Olivia, he realized he had to explain his behavior, rather than leave it the way it was – sure, he'd scared off anymore questions, but in doing so, he'd answered quite a few inaccurately.

He slid into the backseat of the sedan, catching Fin's eye in the rearview mirror. "Those were taken a couple hours after Olivia's boyfriend abandoned her in New Haven after he'd decked her."

Fin's eyes met his for a moment, but he shook his head. "You don't have to explain anything to me." He shrugged as he glanced at Lake's interested face. "Hell, it's probably better if you don't."

"I know." And he did. He didn't have to say anything. But like all instances of taking the fifth, not saying anything implied there was something he wasn't telling. "But it's really not what anyone thinks." He gazed out the window, feeling like the whole world was foggy. "I drove up there to get her in the middle of the night. I was supposed to have a custody hearing first thing the next morning, so she let me sleep on the couch with Eli." He swallowed hard, his mind drawing up those pictures of them leaving her building that morning, him heading off to fight for Eli, her heading off for a run, while it looked very much to the PI watching that they'd spent the night together in a very different way. "Kathy's son of a bitch lawyer put a PI on my tail to catch me being irresponsible. Blew me out of the fucking water yesterday morning when they pulled out those fucking pictures to show how I wasn't taking good care of my son and how I'd been cheating on my wife for ten god damn years."

It had been the sneakiest damn thing he'd ever seen, having listened to Kathy's "I have to work" crap for skipping the first meeting when she'd really been meeting up with the PI to get those incriminating pictures. And, in keeping with his complete inability to ever get mad at the right person, he'd taken his anger out on Olivia. He could have lost it when Kathy's lawyer pushed the photos across the table toward him. He could have had a tantrum right there and tried to beat the snot out of the twenty-something upshot Kathy'd hired. He could have even waited until the meeting was over and found Kathy at work, even followed her home and let her have what she deserved for casting doubt on his partner. Of course, he hadn't. Because any of those would have meant losing custody of his son, watching Eli grow up every other weekend and one month out of the summer. He hadn't been able to do that.

So he'd taken it to work, let it out on Olivia and then gotten mad when she fought back. Having already been suffering for a relationship he wasn't having, Olivia's taunts regarding him and all the other women she thought he was seeing pushed him over the edge. There was only one woman he wanted anything to do with in a personal relationship and she'd been quite obviously able to make it without him. And he'd wound up ruining everything because he needed her so damn bad, because he wanted whatever everyone already assumed he had.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the glass, wishing he could have all the time back to do it right. He was such a fuckhead.

"That's a shitty time to find out your ex is a royal bitch, huh? How long were you two married anyway?" Lake was in front of him, therefore missing Elliot's body language.

He was too tired to lift his head, knowing that his answer made him look even dumber. "Twenty-four years." Because most men would have figured it out faster.

Lake actually laughed, ignoring Fin's grimace. "Shit, dude, that's just sad."

Had Elliot's eyes been open, he might have appreciated the way Fin hit the other man up the back of his head. Fin peeked back at Elliot. "At least you're out of it now, right?"

Elliot bothered to look that time, but only to make sure Fin caught the shrug. "I might be so far out of it that I lose my son."

Lake made some sympathetic noise, leaving it to Fin to voice the obvious. "Even if Kathy's a bitch, you still shouldn't have taken it out on Liv."

Everyone had seen them fighting. And even if Elliot hadn't just spilled the reason for his bad mood that day, they still would have known the fight was his fault. The fights were always his fault. Because he was a fuckhead. Maybe Eli would be better off without him. Maybe Olivia would too.

He'd have to ask her for her opinion as soon as they found her.


	16. T Minus 6 Days, part 3

T Minus 6 Days, cont'd

Elliot scrubbed his hands over his face as he entered the bullpen. Without even looking, he could feel eyes on him, staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to exhibit the sort of behavior that would justify them treating him like a perp.

He sure as hell felt like one.

Probably because he damn well could be one.

And the suits from IAB hovering at his desk didn't really help the situation much. Wincing, he looked down and realized for the first time that he looked like a perp, or perhaps more accurately, like something a perp's cat dragged in. The only part of his appearance that he'd paid any attention to was his bloody arms, in so doing he'd put on a wrinkled suit, a dirty shirt, and topped it all off with a stained tie. He thought maybe it was for the best. He hardly looked like someone capable of overpowering Olivia and carting her off against her will.

Of course, the thought hit home, nearly causing him to double over as he realized he quite obviously was someone who was capable of overpowering Olivia. Obviously because he had overpowered Olivia.

He pondered what it would mean for his credibility if he fell onto all fours and vomited until he passed out. Maybe he was capable of rape. But not intentionally. He could never hurt Olivia intentionally. Never.

Still thinking he was going to be sick, he barely noticed when his captain stepped between him and the suits. "My office, Stabler." He turned to the men and pointed them toward the interrogation rooms. "You can wait another five minutes."

Thankful for what little mercy he'd found in the older man, Elliot thought about hugging him. In the end, he just crumbled into one of the empty seats and waited for whatever he was about to get blamed for.

"Do you want a union rep? I can hold them off until someone gets here." Cragen was trying to appear unnerved, in his typical style, but his eyes revealed intense concern about the state of the man in front of him.

Elliot shook his head. "Do you really think I abducted my partner?"

Cragen stifled a smile. "If she'd claimed someone tried to strangle her, that I might have thought was you, but kidnapping? Doesn't really seem like your style."

Suddenly too tired to hold his head up, he slumped down in the chair, letting his head fall backwards until he was staring at the ceiling. "Do they really think I hurt her?"

Cragen shrugged, knowing full well Elliot wasn't looking at him. Hell, he wasn't even sure that Elliot was listening to him. "I'm hoping to get some information from Crime Scene soon. Then at least we might have an idea of what we're working with."

Elliot's posture didn't change, nor did he give any indication that he'd heard.

With a tired sigh, Cragen continued. "I'm going to call her brother this morning, unless you want to do it."

Elliot shrugged. "I have his number somewhere. But what the hell would you want me to tell him? 'Hey, your sister is missing and I might have her, but I just wanted to let you know?'"

"I'll get it out of her file."

Sitting up and trying to ignore the headache caused by the sudden rush of blood out of his head, he fixed his eyes on his boss. "I know everyone has me tried and convicted because I'm an asshole, especially when it comes to treating her like shit, but please tell me someone is doing something to find her besides waiting for me to confess."

"You just worry about getting your name cleared." Cragen's eyes shifted to one of the IAB officers who'd come back to look for his suspect. "It's not personal, not this time."

Elliot rolled his eyes, completely unconvinced. "They've been trying to nail me for something for years. Now that Olivia's not here to defend me, they'll probably succeed."

"You're the closest person to her, Elliot. If you weren't a cop, we'd have questioned you already. You're a cop, so IAB gets the honors."

"I'm the closest person to her." He closed his eyes as the words, heavy with meaning, rolled around in his brain. It was a statement that he'd need several whiskeys to really understand. "That's fucking messed up."

"If you want a union rep, you'd better tell me now because they're chomping at the bit to get at you."

Elliot shook his head. He always thought hiding behind a lawyer made suspects look guilty. And even if it was only to protect himself, it would only slow everything down. The faster he dealt with IAB, the better because he could get out there to look for Liv himself.

The two men stood up, Elliot unhappily leading the way toward interrogation for the suit who wouldn't dare turn his back, while Cragen addressed Lake and Fin.

"Find that asshole who was in here threatening her."

Lake spoke up, unaware that Elliot and IAB had stopped and were listening. "You mean the one Elliot threatened to kill?"

Elliot couldn't find the strength to even roll his eyes. But that didn't stop him from feeling several pairs of eyes turning toward him.

Cragen let out a deep breath and swore he wouldn't shoot one of his detectives while IAB was there to witness it. "Elliot, what was his name?"

"Dr. Phil? Carney? Cartley? Something like that. One of his cards is in my desk." He barely finished the statement before Cragen was pawing through his stuff.

Finding the business card, Cragen held it out to Fin. "Bring in Dr. Phil."

Lake looked among the faces eagerly. "Seriously?"

Fin smacked the back of his partner's head again. "Dumbass."

The meeting with IAB was surprisingly less stressful than he had anticipated. Perhaps it was because his emotions had all but burned out during his early morning shower. Perhaps it was because Cragen had been right about it not being personal. Perhaps it was because Elliot's temper didn't get the best of him even when they asked pointed questions in decidedly suspicious tones.

Elliot wondered if he should make a note that the only thing he'd ever found that was able to keep his outbursts in check was fear for Olivia's life. He figured she'd probably get a kick out of it since she'd been trying to figure out how to keep him from flying off the handle at any point in time for years. Rather than being defensive or refusing to answer or threatening the officers, Elliot was quiet, calmly answering their questions. He was almost proud of himself for how quickly he was able to convince them that he was such a mild-mannered, easy-going guy that he would never get upset enough to hurt anyone, let alone his partner.

Except he couldn't be proud of himself for anything, not with the cloud of abhorrence surrounding him. He hated himself for what he'd done to her, for the chance he'd hurt her, and he wouldn't let himself off the hook for anything until he saw her again, until she told him that she didn't hate him, until she told him he hadn't been wrong in those few, short seconds when he'd determined she didn't want him to stop. Even if he had been wrong, even if he had hurt her, he still wanted the chance to see her, to apologize, to beg for her forgiveness, to explain that he'd truly never, ever meant to hurt her.

Cragen, on the other hand, was smiling like a proud new papa when Elliot and the IAB suits emerged from the interrogation room, especially when the latter only nodded respectfully at Cragen on their way out. Steering Elliot back into his office rather than letting him collapse at his own desk, Cragen cleared his throat. "Three hours and I didn't hear a single raised voice."

Elliot could only gape. He had no idea three hours had gone by. It had only felt like fifteen minutes. Half hour at the most. But that line of thought immediately led to him wondering how long that very same stretch of time had felt like to Olivia and what her condition was during those three hours and how badly she'd been hurt before, during, and after them. By the time he started to fear she wasn't even still alive, there were tears rolling down his face. He despised himself for being so selfish to not think about her and be aware of every single second that passed while she was at the mercy of some unknown assailant.

"Jesus, Elliot." Cragen thrust a box of tissues at the man, completely unsure of how to handle a sobbing Detective Stabler. All the other moods, he knew how to handle, but tears were beyond his capabilities. "What happened in there?"

Elliot shrugged, his emotions overwhelming him beyond words. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should, and undoubtedly would, be mortified about blubbering in front of Cragen, but he couldn't quite make himself care. Sniffling and wiping at his eyes much like he'd often seen his children do over skinned knees, he tried to get himself together enough to speak. He swallowed the lump in his throat and fairly choked on the words. "I need to know she's ok." In truth, he needed to know a hell of a lot more, but he settled for anything at all that made sense.

Cragen put aside any concerned tendencies he might normally show as a fellow human and instead focused his eyes off to the left somewhere, keeping his sobbing detective out of his line of sight. He'd given them a thousand warnings, ignored painfully obvious signs of their bizarre relationship, turned his head when their interactions indicated a clearly personal and probably sexual side to their partnership. But he couldn't find a way around a relationship they so obviously wanted him to see. He didn't know if it was unconscious, maybe a way for them to get reprimanded for something they knew was wrong, or if it was simply that they didn't know how blatant their affection for one another was. No matter the cause, as their captain, as someone who cared about both of them and their careers, he had to stop it – either the relationship or the partnership. While he knew that either choice would be devastating to his squad, the problem was that he honestly didn't know which one would be more devastating to them.

Clearing his throat, he glanced at Elliot and appreciated that he was at least trying to pull himself together. "I put my ass on the line to get this case assigned to my squad. Don't make me regret that."

Elliot nodded, understanding that Cragen was giving him a lot of slack under the circumstances, but yet not quite able to believe he couldn't have stood some more. He went to glance at his watch, except that he hadn't bothered to put it on. Hours had slipped past while he was in with IAB and he hadn't noticed them, however, his body felt heavy and exhausted as though it was keeping better track of the time. When his eyes finally found the clock on the office wall, he was disappointed to see it wasn't even lunch time yet. He'd never known time to seem to move so fast and so slow simultaneously.

He turned back to Cragen, realizing that he'd been speaking. Elliot knew Cragen wasn't kidding about having to kiss ass to get the disappearance of one of his detectives investigated by his squad and he therefore knew Cragen wouldn't hesitate to reprimand or suspend him. He didn't want to upset his boss by calling attention to the fact that he wasn't able to pay attention for five minutes straight, but he didn't see any way around it since Cragen had stopped talking and was awaiting an answer. Elliot narrowed his eyes and searched his memory to come up with something he might have picked up. He came up with a blank. Finally, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I missed something."

Cragen let out a disappointed sigh. "I can't ignore it this time." He shook his head sadly. "Not anymore."

Swallowing hard, Elliot knew exactly what Cragen was talking about. He thought he'd bought them some time by admitting the feelings were one-sided, but apparently such a debasing statement wasn't worth much in the way of time. "I don't care. I just need to find her."

Cragen held his stare for a long, silent moment before he nodded. "Ok, but when you do, one of you has to go."

Elliot didn't need to think about his response. "I'll go." His voice dropped lower, as though to keep his explanation between them. "She needs this."

"Don't make a rash decision. You two need to talk about it." Cragen took a deep breath, loathe to voice the rest, loathe to even think about the implication. "She might feel differently about it after this."

It took all of Elliot's consciousness to block the suggestion from his mind, to ignore the undeniable truth in the captain's words, to refuse to comprehend that his partner wasn't going to be able to handle rape cases anymore, not after she was a victim herself. He shook his head again, pushing away any thoughts of the kind. "She needs this, cap." Looking up, he believed he found some sympathy in the other man's eyes. "I need her."

A sharp rap on the glass of the door called their attention to Munch, who waited for a sign before he pushed the door open slightly. "Crime lab just called. There's good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

Cragen wanted to strangle the man; he couldn't imagine how Elliot was suppressing the urge. "Damn it, Sergeant, this isn't the time."

Munch nodded, glancing nervously at Elliot who would have no trouble closing the two feet of empty space separating them if he didn't like what he heard. "Well, the good news is that the blood at the scene wasn't Liv's." He smiled slightly at Elliot, seeing him visibly relax. "Wasn't even human, apparently there's a bleeding Fido out there somewhere." His glance slid to his boss for a moment before settling back on Elliot. "Bad news is that, among a few thousand prints they pulled and the few they were already able to run, Liv's were on the dumpster."

Cragen responded first. "Maybe she was throwing something away." He knew he was reaching, especially with her coat, which even he knew she carried like a security blanket, and her subsequent disappearance.

Elliot shook his head, somehow finding comfort in the meaningless, pathetic details he knew about his partner's civilian life. "Her dumpster's behind the building."

Munch shrugged, satisfied he wasn't about to get hit for the time being. "Something made her go down that alley, right? Maybe our bleeding Fido."

"She doesn't even like dogs." Elliot shook his head again. "Besides, Olivia wouldn't have stopped to help a bleeding baby last night."

"No, she just wouldn't have stopped to help a bleeding Elliot last night." Munch backed up a little when Elliot's eyes turned dark. "We all heard her tell you where to shove it last night."

"All right, that's enough." Cragen started to wonder if it was that his whole team needed to be replaced or if he had missed the boat to retire. He nodded at Munch. "Go find someone else to bait. Elliot, I want you checking recent prison releases for anyone who might have a grudge."

Instinct rather than thought made him scoff at the assignment. "How about every prick we ever put away?"

Cragen wasn't about to be swayed. "If you want to be anywhere near this case, you're doing it my way. Now, I doubt every prick you've ever put away has just been released, but just in case, I want a list."

Nodding, Elliot pulled himself to his feet and shuffled to his desk. He knew Cragen's suggestion was legitimate, that the odds were infinitely better that someone had specifically targeted Olivia, but he wasn't big on the research aspect of his job. He was better at intimidating people, outwitting them in interrogation, throwing the well-deserved punch. He could stare at his computer for hours and it wouldn't blink. He doubted hitting it would help either.

Before the machine booted up, Fin and Lake returned, dragging a loudly unhappy Dr. Phil between them in handcuffs. Cragen and Elliot both stood to meet Fin while Lake dragged their catch into the other room.

Fin grimaced at them, offering a shrug. "Son of a bitch has an alibi that three people were able to back up. Made us run all over town to check it."

Cragen looked confused as he glanced in the direction of the interrogation room. "Then why-"

Fin shrugged again. "Guy pisses me off. And he hit Liv. I figured we should give him a little refresher about not hitting women, in case he forgot what Elliot told him."

Elliot found himself smiling at Fin, pleased the man was showing such loyalty to Olivia, which he knew she wouldn't be so quick to reward. They shared a small nod, sharing an understanding of the desire to protect her, whether she wanted it or not.

Cragen, on the other hand, was beginning to question his ability to read his people. He would have chastised Elliot for running someone in just to fuck with him over Olivia's honor; now he had another pair of detectives who knew full well they had no reason to bring the guy in except that they didn't like the way he'd treated Olivia. Annoyed, he pretended he hadn't heard a word Fin said, if only to avoid the paperwork that would come with acknowledging that he had. He turned to Elliot instead. "You were working on a list for me, right?"

Elliot headed back to his desk and got to work, promising himself that despite his irritation with researching anything he was doing something useful to help Olivia. Every time he caught himself looking at the clock, wishing the day would go by faster so he could go home, he would think of Olivia and wish time would stop instead so that she wouldn't have to suffer.

Of course the thought of her suffering brought up thoughts of what she could possibly be suffering from which in turn brought up two cups of coffee and his lunch before he realized that running to the bathroom every five minutes was going to get him booted right off the case. Only allowing himself water from that point on, and refusing to consider that Olivia wasn't being allowed that tiny indulgence, he had compiled a list of seventeen names for Cragen by the end of the day. He'd even gone so far as to make some notes on why they were of particular interest before he presented the report to his boss.

Cragen looked over the list carefully, seeming quite impressed with Elliot's ability to concentrate when he needed to. He set the list to the side of his blotter and looked up at Elliot. "Good work. We'll start checking these out first thing tomorrow."

Elliot's mouth fell open. "Why not now?" He saw no reason to leave Olivia waiting for one second longer than she needed to. Motioning at the officers left in the squad room, he stared his boss down. "These people are just sitting here doing nothing."

"You need to go home, Elliot." Cragen knew who was where and what they were doing. That was his job and he was damn good at it. He also knew what his team needed, often better than they did. "We're going to find her and when we do, she's going to need you."

Elliot searched his eyes, sensing there was an accusation there, yet unable to find it. "So? Think she'll need me less if we take longer to find her?"

"You're not going to be much good to her if you're sick from exhaustion or if you get yourself beat up stalking ex-cons." Walking around the desk, he put his hand on Elliot's shoulder and prodded him toward the elevator. "You're not the only person working on this. Get some rest. Maybe we'll find her tonight."

Elliot's feet stopped dead in their tracks at the thought. "I should be there. I need to be there when you find her." His eyes closed, fighting the instant emotional response to the idea of what she might have already faced in the twenty-four hours since she'd been taken. "If she was- I mean, if someone-" He tried to swallow. He tried to cough. He tried to breathe. Nothing was working.

"We know how to do our jobs, Elliot. There's no unit better prepared to deal with it, if that's the situation." Cragen knew his words would do little to comfort the man who'd broken down in tears twice in front of him and had run out of the room countless times during the day.

"But she'll want me. She'll want to see me. She won't want anyone seeing her like that. It'll be bad enough if it's me, but you or Fin or-"

"I'll call you if we get any solid leads. You have my word." His word meant little, considering that he already knew he'd only call the younger man if Elliot appeared able to handle it. Cragen knew that Elliot's shaky emotional state would only serve to worsen any lingering fear Olivia might have.

Elliot nodded. "She'll be ok. We'll find her and she'll be fine." His words repeated, soft and continuously, as the elevator doors separated him from his boss. He had to keep telling himself that she would be fine because he had to believe that she would be fine because she had to be fine.

If she wasn't, he didn't know what he'd do.


	17. T Minus 5 Days, part 1

_Special Thanks to my Flug!!!_

T Minus 5 Days

It was late. Very, very late. He could tell because the noise coming through his closed windows, the sounds of the city continuing to live, had faded away to nearly nothing. Having lived in and around the city his whole life, he knew the city didn't go to sleep until very, very late. And he also knew that it would wake up early, before he would even be cursed by the rising sun streaming in, the blazing ball of light that breathed energy into the whole world that only caused him to cast shadows on everything around him.

He couldn't say how long he'd been home. He couldn't remember stopping at the liquor store on the way home. He couldn't tell how much of the whiskey missing from the half empty bottle had found a home in his gut versus how much he'd be paying to have steam cleaned out of his sofa and carpeting eventually.

But he did know that the world, the harsh, sharp, painful world, around him had developed somewhat soft, fuzzy edges. His brain was much slower to process things and since he recognized the delay, he was therefore more appreciative of any thoughts that managed to form in the muddled haze.

His tired, exhausted eyes were locked on those damn pictures, the ones he'd hated for existing, finding the black and white images so soothing. He'd slowly thumbed through them, taking in the various shapes in each with much more care than he previously had. When they'd first been presented to him, he had only needed to really see the first two, flipping quickly through the rest without focusing on them had instantly assured him they were all meant to be damning. And after that meeting, after Kathy and her jackass lawyer who'd convinced her that discrediting her husband of half her life was the best way to handle the divorce had left the room, after even his own lawyer had quietly packed up his own papers and left, Elliot had sat there, staring at the top photograph until he had it memorized. Hating it, hating Olivia, hating their bond.

But still, he'd never bothered to look beyond the top two.

His intoxicated state allowed him to lose the indignation he first found in those pictures. Instead he looked at them carefully, drinking in the sight of her when the Elliot beside her had turned away, enjoying what seemed like private moments with her. It took him hours to page through them, appreciating the detective's thoroughness in capturing the images many times from different angles which in turn allowed him to see various expressions lighting across her face. The frames changed, the backdrops, offering Elliot a walk down memory lane and showcasing moments of the previous four weeks. All the pictures featured Olivia prominently, standing at his side, smiling, frowning, talking, laughing, glaring, walking away from him, running half a step behind him, matching his stride on their way up the precinct steps.

Had he been sober, he might have marveled at the idea that they'd been tailed for so long and never noticed. He might have been pissed off seeing the way that his life and his career and even a few of those special moments with his partner had been picked apart and studied and used against him.

Instead he only smiled, feeling a swell of love at the sight of her, knowing they were the only photos of them together despite how long they'd worked together. Sex Crimes wasn't the place people often pulled out a camera to capture the good times on film.

He settled on one picture, one where they were standing on the sidewalk, leaning on their car, probably discussing a case or possibly what to get for lunch or maybe his kids. They were half turned toward each other, his arm resting on the roof of the car, damn near around her shoulders, his stare locked on her face, her head leaning toward him, her smile wide, her eyes bright even though there was no color to mirror them exactly. Somewhere in the back of his head he decided to frame it. Fuck the misconceptions anyone might find in it. Fuck anyone who found something ugly in their innate connection. Fuck the associations he might have regarding the circumstances where he'd received it. His marriage was over before he'd walked into the room that day. It had been over the day he'd decided to leave, knowing that Kathy wouldn't make him happy, accepting that his children would always be his regardless of whether or not he shared an address with their mother. He just wanted the paperwork completed, the fighting stopped, the strings cut. He wanted to move on.

And with his eyes on her smiling face, he could finally admit that he wanted to move on with Olivia.

The world was much harder than it seemed as he stumbled to his bedroom, banging various parts of himself into furniture that was still unfamiliar in the dark. He stripped out of the suit he'd been wearing, the one he knew smelled heavily of alcohol and sadness. His bare feet found the softness of an abandoned pair of jeans on the floor. He stepped into them as his hands searched on the bed for a t-shirt. He managed to pull clean socks out of his drawer before he shoved his sneakers on his feet.

Uncoordinated or not, he was on a mission. The photographs, especially that last one, roused a need in him to see her, to be near her, to touch her. He had to get to her, to somewhere he could feel her.

His thoughts weren't well ordered as he hailed a cab, telling the driver to hurry toward the precinct, gripping her coat so tight in his grasp that he started to lose feeling in his fingers. He dragged his legs up the steps, trying to fake sobriety, knowing it was pointless. He didn't stop in the squad room; he couldn't feel her there. He continued up the stairs, ducking his head to avoid anyone who might try to talk to him, only coming to stop outside the door to the crib. His hand was on the door. His body was leaning on the wall, ready to push it open. He'd be able to feel her there. He'd be able to see her in that cot, where he'd found her, where he'd touched her. He'd be able to smell her, experience to rush of her arousal when he thrust her against the wall. All he had to do was open the door and he'd be there again, with her the way he'd intended, with her the way his drunken mind recognized it needed.

But when his weight fell on the door, the squeaky hinges protesting his request, he found nothing. Even one day had changed it. Perhaps the windows he'd opened. Perhaps the other people who'd slept on the cots. Perhaps the janitor who'd mopped the floor. The cause didn't matter; the effect was the same. There was no Olivia. He turned on the light, searching the space for some evidence of the few minutes that had altered their lives forever. The cot she'd been lying on had been made up fresh. The wall she'd braced them against was empty. The floor they'd collapsed on was shiny and clean, reflecting nothing.

Disappointed and half sobered, he left, practically running with his confused feet tripping over one another as he made his escape. As he hailed another cab, he was grateful that he wasn't a somber, depressed sort of drunk. At least the alcohol filled him with both a purpose and the energy to satisfy it. He was looking for somewhere to feel closer to Olivia, somewhere he could convince himself he could still feel their connection, despite the circumstances, despite the fear plaguing his sober moments that told him he might never again feel that closeness.

His body worked automatically, inebriated as he was, climbing her steps, opening her door. He wasn't even really sure of where he was for several minutes; he only knew that he could smell her. Without having had the luxury of her perfume clinging to his clothes all day, he'd missed it. Whatever had been left on her coat had faded with the time in his possession and out in the alley. In her apartment, however, it surrounded him, encompassed his intoxicated body, enveloped his tortured mind.

He sat there in the dark for a long time. Just feeling close to her. Just being in space that belonged to her. Just sitting where she might normally be. Getting high from the idea alone.

But then, it wasn't enough anymore. He couldn't quite convince himself that she was there. He didn't feel her presence so much as the ghost of it, teasing him with the idea that although she had once been there, she wasn't any longer.

He left her jacket on the couch, searching around for somewhere, something, else. There was no goal, no conscious thought in his mind when he stepped in her bedroom, but he knew he'd found what he wanted. The scent was stronger there, coming from the combination of bottles on her dresser. He lifted her perfume to his nose, knowing it as well as he knew his cologne, knowing he'd recognize it even when twenty-four years hadn't been enough to recall Kathy's favorite perfume. He picked up another bottle, a pink plastic one, next, inhaling the scent her lotion and finding the same familiarity. He'd found what he was looking for. It was as close to her as he could get.

He almost fell onto the bed, suddenly crushed by success. Because he'd wanted to feel closer to her than in his apartment where she'd never set foot; because he'd found the only place he might feel close to her until she was back.

And he wasn't close to her at all. All the creams and perfumes and make-up and clothes in the world would not add up to being with her. He'd never felt so alone, so empty.

He didn't even know what he was doing as he pulled back the thick comforter, slipped between her sheets, and buried his face in her pillow. The alcohol, the mission, the energy – it had all left him, like she had.

All he had left was loss. He'd had her for ten years by his side. He'd had her for a few minutes as something more. And he'd lost her. She was gone. It had taken that for him to truly understand how much he loved her and he hated himself even more for it. Because he never told her. Because it explained the angry way she'd reacted when he tried to walk away. Because she'd needed to hear it. He cried himself to sleep.

He awoke, however, in the best mood he could remember being in for most of his adult life. Consciously, he hadn't been able to create Olivia out of scented air. His unconscious mind, on the other hand, was all too happy to do the job. So for the first few moments of being awake, he smiled up at the ceiling, completely convinced that he'd slept that night happily and quite welcome in Olivia's bed with her sleeping contentedly in his arms after having made love to her until they passed out. He believed it so well that he was sure he'd only grabbed her pillow and snuggled it close to his chest after she'd risen to shower.

And for the briefest, happiest moment of his life, he contemplated joining her.

Unfortunately, his consciousness eventually awoke to join his physical presence, reminding him of why he was there and crushing the pathetic bit of joy that had started to flourish. The realization made it hard to breathe. The morning light hurt his eyes. His stomach felt like it was on a roller coaster. His head felt like he'd bashed it into a wall. And he was pretty damn sure someone had shoved a dirty gym sock in his mouth.

Feeling as shitty as he did, he didn't feel compelled to change, shower, or give a shit what anyone thought of how he looked. The only shred of normalcy he found in the day was pouring himself a cup of coffee when he got to the precinct, although he was starting to get used to the stares of his coworkers.

Elliot sat down at his desk and rummaged around in the drawer for a bottle of something that might cure his hangover. He seriously doubted that anything he washed down with coffee was really going to help, but he made the effort. It gave him something to do besides cry or feel sorry for himself, which had only recently become valid options for ways to spend his time.

He wasn't exactly surprised when the captain, looking very tired and rather irritated for no reason, appeared at his desk. Hoping to conceal his hangover, he tried very hard not to wince at the fluorescent overhead lights as he looked up. "Morning, Cap."

"Elliot, my office." No wonder the man looked tired and irritated, what with repeating himself over and over.

Elliot dropped the half-assed façade and groaned. "What now?" It only took a second for the panic to rise up and make him jump to his feet. "What is it? Did you find something?" When Cragen's face briefly flashed from concern to confusion to pity, Elliot's already displeased stomach flipped over.

"Oh, god, did you find her?" The fraction of a second between Elliot's words didn't leave enough of a window for the older man to answer.

"Is she ok? Please tell me she's ok." The silence and the panic ganged up on his legs, leaving Elliot's unsupported weight to cave back into his chair.

"She's alive, right? Please let her be alive." His words were barely a whisper, but they seemed to carry across the absurdly quiet room.

Elliot didn't notice. His eyes were locked on his boss's, waiting for some indication that he needn't pull his gun and eat it right there. He watched as the other man's face changed almost imperceptibly, giving a hint of a smile while his eyes darted to the side.

"Good morning, Elliot." The soft, measured tones of George Huang's voice were welcome rather than annoying for the first time in nine years.

Elliot's eyes glanced in his direction, but returned to Cragen's face. He didn't say anything. It was obvious that Huang's presence was the answer to one of Elliot's questions; Elliot just didn't know which. It could be that Huang was the reason Elliot was requested in Cragen's office. It could also be that Olivia was dead and Cragen was dumb enough to think a psychiatrist would be enough to keep Elliot from his partner's side, even in death.

Cragen swallowed before he spoke, keeping his voice low so as to keep it from all the sets of ears listening in, although such a volume would have only been perceived by dogs in the area. "Elliot, I asked Dr. Huang to come in today. I thought you might appreciate having someone to talk to."

Elliot narrowed his eyes, his body instinctively knowing how to respond to someone's suggestion that he seek counseling. It was usually whose opinion was of little real value to him. But sometimes, it was Olivia. He usually responded that he'd go as soon as she did. She would come back with a question as to whether or not they could get a two-for-one special. He'd answer they could and that it was called couple's therapy. Then she'd smile and laugh and tell him she wasn't sure that would really help any.

Instead of an answering laugh, Elliot wanted to scream at the idea that she was dead and therefore such exchanges would only exist in his mind, short as that would be until he blew it right through the back of his head.

Huang stepped forward, insinuating himself into the space between Cragen and Elliot. "Elliot, there's no new information. Don simply thought you might find some benefit in talking to me."

Elliot hating talking to people unnecessarily. He considered confiding in people talking unnecessary. And one of the reasons he hated it so damn much was perfectly summed up in what had happened. He'd confided in Cragen, partly to protect Olivia's reputation, partly because he couldn't control his emotions. And Cragen had turned around and called the fucking shrink on him. Elliot glared over Huang's shoulder at his boss. Motherfucker. That would effectively teach him about confiding in people.

Certain there was no other option, short of an involuntary visit to Bellevue, Elliot shrugged. "Fuck, whatever." He stood up and waited for Huang to suggest somewhere they could "talk" while he shot daggers at Cragen. It wasn't just that he was being sent to see a doctor, not even that he was being forced to confess something he still wasn't comfortable discussing at all to a coworker. It was that Cragen had an ulterior motive. Sure, Elliot accepted that his behavior and appearance probably looked to many like a cry for help. He wasn't even sure it was really a bad idea. Huang would be a better audience than Cragen had been; Huang had kept his secrets before. Huang already knew that he was terrified out of his fucking mind over his feelings for Olivia, and that had been before Elliot had actually been able to name them.

No, there were millions of reasons for Elliot and Huang to have a little chat, but it was the fact that Cragen's primary reason for sending him was simply to get Elliot off the case and out of the precinct for a little while.

And Elliot didn't like it one bit.


	18. T Minus 5 Days, part 2

T Minus 5 Days, cont'd

Huang led the way outside, turning slightly as he descended the stairs. "Would you like to get coffee?"

Elliot's stomach, having been antagonized already by the coffee-aspirin combo, threatened to leave him altogether. "This isn't a date."

Smiling, Huang shook his head in agreement. "No, it's not."

"So stop trying to make me comfortable." Psychiatrists always thought making people relax would make them spill their guts. They never quite seemed to understand that Elliot could only relax when it was clear that no one was trying to make him spill his guts. Kathy was a prime example of that; she'd never stopped trying to make him talk about his feelings which got her nowhere. He almost mentioned that, except bringing up Kathy was a bad idea. He didn't want to talk about Kathy. He didn't want to talk about anything, but he really didn't want to talk about Kathy.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Huang gave every impression that he was intently focused on Elliot's face, but he managed to side step a woman who tried to barrel him over with a stroller-shaped battering ram.

"No." Elliot scanned the area, looking for a place to sit. He wasn't feeling up to a rush hour stroll through the city. Hell, he'd barely gotten to work with the way he felt.

Huang smiled slightly, turning the corner. "Then why would I need to make you comfortable?"

Making himself a seat on a brick fence, Elliot didn't answer. He wasn't in the mood for mind games. Normally he was afraid he'd lose against Huang, but that wasn't the issue. He wouldn't care if he lost. He just didn't want to play.

Huang sat a few feet away, waiting until it was clear that Elliot wasn't going to start unprompted. He studied the other man for a moment, trying to figure out some sort of way to approach the gaping hole in Elliot's armor without setting him on the defensive. A hint of a smile graced his features. "Olivia is quite resourceful and very strong."

As Huang expected, Elliot's face softened a bit at the compliment of his partner. "Yeah, she is. I've never known anyone as strong as her."

"Yet you were quick to assume the worst when you were talking to Don this morning."

And of course, at the idea of the worst, Elliot's face closed up as he attempted to shrink back behind his wounded wall. "Cragen should have said something. He knew what I'd think when he called me into his office and didn't say anything about Liv."

Huang nodded, turning Elliot's words on him. "He should have known it would upset you." Elliot stayed quiet, tensing with the idea that something was coming he wouldn't like. "How would he know that?"

Mentally slapping himself, Elliot sighed. Two sentences and he'd backed himself into a corner. Olivia would have laughed at him for it; she was the queen of talking in circles. She could make Huang dizzy with the circles she could talk. The spark of pride was immediately vanquished by the stab of pain. He swallowed hard and figured he didn't have shit to lose, not without Olivia at his side. "Because he knows how I feel about her."

"And how would he know that?"

"The same fucking way you do." Irritated at himself and Huang and the world, Elliot stood up, pacing in a small square on the sidewalk. A moment later he sat back down on the wall. "I told him."

Huang smiled, seeming unduly pleased with the revelation. "I'm surprised."

"I only did it to keep him from –" The words he'd heard clicked slowly in his mind and he realized they made no sense. "What are you surprised about?"

"That you told Don." Huang shrugged. "I didn't think you had any conscious idea how you feel about her."

"Well I do." He didn't feel compelled to point out that he'd only just figured it the fuck out; Huang apparently already knew everything anyway.

"And how do you feel about her?" Huang's eyes were on Elliot's face, carefully analyzing and measuring every nuance of his expression.

Elliot hoped that would make him fully appreciate the irritation in his glare. "I'm not in the mood to play games here. We both know – hell, the whole fucking world knows how I feel about her."

Huang's voice was softer, yet determined when he answered. "There's a big difference between feeling something and admitting something. I think it's important for you to understand there's nothing wrong with admitting your feelings for Olivia."

Elliot chuckled. "Tell that to Cragen."

"I didn't say it was appropriate."

"Fuck you." He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to tamp down the explosion he could feel building only because he suspected it would make his head hurt more to scream. He turned to face Huang, staring him down. "I fucking love her, ok? Does that make it all better? Is that what I have to say before I can be left the fuck alone? Can someone do something to try and find her now that I admit that I'm in love with my fucking partner?"

He stood up, the anger causing a surge of energy that refused to let him remain still. "I love her and she's out there, taken by some god damn murdering raping son of a bitch and maybe fucking dead and all anyone fucking cares about is how I feel." He leaned down in Huang's face, pleased with the surprise and momentary distress his bulky presence caused the smaller man. "How the fuck do you think she feels right now? Why doesn't anyone care about that?"

Realizing quickly the cause of Elliot's rage, Huang waited for his tirade to abate. It wasn't about him or Cragen or anyone's feelings. Elliot was pissed off that someone had taken Olivia, that someone was hurting her, and mostly that he couldn't help her. When the air had silenced, Huang met Elliot's eyes. "I think she's scared. Maybe she's hurting." He didn't miss Elliot's involuntary wince at the obvious. "But I personally think her biggest worry is probably about you."

Elliot's mouth opened, but no words came out.

Huang nodded to reassure him. "Olivia is no better than you are about hiding her feelings." He stopped to smile. "Except possibly from you. She'll be worried about how hard you're going to take her disappearance, most likely. She'll be worried that you'll make yourself sick worrying about her."

That really had never occurred to him. "As long as I find her, why would she care how sick I make myself?"

Huang looked disappointed, as though Elliot should have already known the answer. "Because she cares about you."

Spent, Elliot dropped back into his makeshift seat and shook his head. "You might have been right before." He ruefully considered how useful that information might have been had he received it before she'd left the precinct that night. "But not anymore. She hates me. Ask anyone who saw her leave that night."

Huang's smile faded, but it was clear his mood hadn't changed at all. "I'm pretty sure there's no way to make her hate you."

Elliot squeezed his eyes closed, hating that he'd done it again, followed down the path led by someone trying to make him reveal personal details that he didn't want to reveal, and yet still hadn't seen it coming. He'd thought the bullshit about loving her had been the goal; no, the whammy was getting him to talk about his guilt, about why she hated him, about what he'd done to make her hate him. And that wasn't something he would ever be ready to talk about. Not with Huang. Not with Cragen. Not with his priest. Fuck, even St. Peter and his Pearly fucking Gates were getting the silent treatment regarding that issue.

"She does. Trust me on that."

He was hooked, just as Elliot had known he would be. "I'd be more likely to believe you if you told me the world was flat."

Elliot shrugged. "Maybe it is."

"Why do you think she hates you? Did she say something that made you think that?" The psychiatrist's stare was intense. Elliot started to wonder if that stare wouldn't read the words right through his skull without him having to say it aloud.

"She told me to go fuck myself. Everyone heard her." He hated thinking about it. He hated remembering how he'd had to get rid of Dani that night. He hated the way he'd wasted time before he chased Olivia. If he'd followed her, if he'd walked away from Dani and paid attention to the only thing that mattered to him, maybe she wouldn't have wound up missing. She'd been right to hate him; what happened to her was his fault.

Huang nodded, clearly amused at the idea of the words leaving her mouth. "Olivia expressing anger toward you and Olivia hating you aren't the same thing. You should know. You've certainly gotten mad at Olivia before, haven't you?"

"Of course I have, but this was different."

"How so?"

"It just is." He couldn't do it. He couldn't face the idea of admitting that; he could barely grasp the concept of talking about it with Olivia if he ever got the chance.

"What is?" Huang was like a dog with a bone, not about to let anyone get it away from him.

"Look, she hates me. She's missing and she hates me. It doesn't matter why. It doesn't matter how I feel about her. We'll be fine to discuss how we do or don't feel about each other as soon as someone finds her." His eyes lifted to the sky, to the clouds that were blocking the sun while still allowing it to be so bright his eyes hurt.

He remembered when he was little, thinking dead people went to heaven in the clouds and looked down at everyone alive. He remembered the first time he got on a plane, he'd been five-years-old, going to his great-grandmother's funeral. He'd been so terribly disappointed there were no angels up there after all. It almost made him feel better to know that Olivia, if she was dead, wasn't up there looking down at him. Except he couldn't feel better thinking that Olivia was dead. He couldn't deal with that.

"What if no one finds her? Or worse, what if your fears this morning come true?" Huang's mind-reading talents were probably lost on most people because of his insight into human behavior, but Elliot recognized them. He didn't appreciate them one bit, but he knew there were there.

"You mean what if she's dead?" He could barely force the words through his brain; the struggle to voice them was nearly lost in his hoarse whisper. But Huang heard, or maybe divined, them and nodded. "Then it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Your feelings will still matter."

"Not to her." It wasn't a concept he wanted to dwell on, not when he knew the result would invariably be him committing suicide and leaving his children with that burden.

"Her feelings will still matter to you." Huang meant for his words to be encouraging, to convince Elliot to open up.

But Elliot only realized the horror of having to live, however short that time period might be, without ever apologizing to her. The guilt grew tenfold, falling down around him like a curtain. He wasn't sure anymore if he could wait to find out what happened to her, how she was, if she hated him; he wanted to die first. His face dropped into his hands, his elbows supported on his legs. He couldn't take it. He couldn't fucking take anymore.

"Elliot, you'll feel better if you talk about it." Huang was using his soft, understanding tone and it got under Elliot's skin.

Even so, he didn't have the strength to rant and threaten, he just tried to keep breathing, sucking in gulps of air as often as he could to keep from bursting into tears in the middle of the street.

And suddenly, Huang's voice was closer, a supportive hand on his shoulder. "You're hyperventilating, Elliot." Elliot forced his head up, confused and shocked at the suggestion, realizing a bit too late that Huang would see the panic and anguish and pain written on his face. "You need to tell me what happened. It will help alleviate the guilt you're feeling. Then you'll be strong enough to help look for Olivia. You want that, don't you?" Elliot nodded, not even aware that a few tears had slipped out regardless of his efforts. "Get it off your chest. Let it out."

Shaking his head, Elliot put his face back in his hands. He wanted to let it out, he did. He wanted to confess it to Olivia, to admit to her that he knew he'd made a mistake, to leave it in her hands to forgive him.

Huang's gently encouragement continued, urging him to spill it all. "Elliot, tell me what you could have done to make Olivia hate you. You're her partner. She'd give her life to save yours, you know that."

Elliot swallowed hard and nodded, choking out a few words. "I do know that."

"It doesn't make any sense that she would hate you. Tell me what could have been so bad. Explain it to me."

There was something about his voice, about the way that he was trying to tear Elliot apart with soft words, about the way Huang really believed that he couldn't have done anything so bad as to make Olivia hate him, about the way that the brilliant, omnipotent psychiatrist could be so mistaken about his character. It made him nuts. It made him want to scream.

It broke him.

His eyes were cold and hard when he looked up, his face lacking any emotion, his mind numbing him against the horror of the words. "I fucked her."

He stared at the stunned man, watching him squirm. He wondered how it felt for Huang to suddenly to be in the other set of shoes. Huang covered the shock on his face quickly, but his lengthy pause gave Elliot a fair clue as to how unprepared Huang had truly been for the declaration. Elliot would have enjoyed the moment, except there was nothing pleasurable about his admission.

Huang finally took a seat on the wall once again. "I'm still not sure that I understand." He swallowed hard. "If you were intimate, I would think that indicates her feelings towards you are positive."

Elliot sighed heavily, not quite sure how clear he had to be. "I didn't say I bought her roses and took her to dinner and made love to her. Jesus Christ, I said I fucked her, ok?"

Huang nodded slowly. "Even so, the activity itself, however you choose to describe it, implies mutual feeling."

He closed his eyes, dropping his voice even lower. "You'd think so."

Huang's voice lowered as well, as though he didn't really want to ask. "Was it consensual?"

That was what it came down to in the end, Elliot realized. And then he realized he didn't have an answer. "I don't know."

That statement, finally, seemed to have an impact. A real, substantial impact.

Huang's face visibly paled as he searched Elliot's eyes. "Are you telling me you raped her?"

Elliot chewed on his lip, detesting the words even more hearing them from someone else. "Christ, I don't know. I hope not. We didn't talk about it. She wanted to talk to me, but we were at work, fuck, I couldn't do it then. I didn't know what the fuck to do. We'd been fighting for days. One minute we're yelling at each other and the next, Jesus, I just don't know, I was fucking her and then the one after that we were fucking arguing again. I really don't fucking know." He looked up briefly, scared to see hatred and disappointment and lack of understanding. "After she left, I was going to talk to her, I wanted to see her, I wanted to make sure she was ok, but she wasn't there. She was gone." His voice cracked, turning to a sob at the end. "Someone fucking grabbed her and I don't know if she was ok or not."

Huang was uncomfortable, something few people got to see, but Elliot's eyes didn't even notice. "Did you hurt her? Physically. I mean."

"I didn't hit her, but-" Swallowing hard, he wasn't sure how much detail he could get through before he was sick. "I meant it when I said I fucked her. I wasn't careful. I wasn't gentle. I didn't even give her a god damned chance to respond or tell me to stop or anything." The tears began running down his face and he honestly didn't care who saw them. Not with what he had to say. "I remember putting my hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, but I don't know if it was because I was hurting her or if she was scared or if she was-" As he realized what he was saying, that it would be something he'd kill anyone for saying about her, he stopped himself. He couldn't speak the words, in case those violent clenches of her body had been a physical betrayal of her mind.

Huang's eyes were closed, but he nodded. "I understand."

Elliot's mouth fell open, immediately ready to strangle the other man for understanding how he might have raped his partner. It wasn't understandable. It wasn't excusable.

"What you were saying, I mean."

"Oh." The fists he hadn't realized he made released and he wiped at the moisture on his face. "I swear to god I didn't mean to hurt her. I don't even understand how I lost control like that."

"Can I ask what happened after? You said you fought again. What did she say?" Huang was trying to keep up the conversation, but Elliot was fairly certain he was sitting a little further away, as though the revelation that he might have done something so awful to someone he loved so much meant that his temper might get the best of him at any time and he might take out his anger on anyone.

And rather than making him feel better as Huang had implied would happen if he talked, Elliot felt the curtain of guilt surround him again. "She wanted me to stay there. She wanted to talk to me." He was such a shit. Really, he was too fucking horrible to live. "I refused. I told her to get herself together." The more he thought about it, the more came back that he'd blocked out in the time since. "I rolled my sleeves down to hide these." He pushed his sleeves up to display his torn skin.

"Those look fresh." Huang's observation was completely true; Elliot had hardly given his arms a chance to heal.

"I might have torn them open again." He looked at his arms, feeling the urge to do it again, to keep the physical pain going until it blocked the emotional totally.

Huang's eyes moved up, questioning and answering at the same time, seeming to know how Elliot had torn them open. "I wouldn't advise hurting yourself." He shrugged. "You should give her the opportunity to kill you while you're perfectly healthy if she wants."

Elliot nodded, knowing that, even though it wasn't meant literally, Huang's idea was right. "I covered up my arms and I opened the windows and then I, fuck, I – her lip was bleeding and I cleaned it up."

Huang winced. "How did her lip get cut?"

He couldn't bring himself to say it. He'd been able to reveal the rest, but he couldn't explain the feral, territorial anger that had overtaken him and caused him to bite into her beautiful mouth. "I don't want to talk about it. I didn't hit her." Taking Huang's nod, he continued. "Then I fixed her hair." He remembered combing his fingers through the soft strands, wanting to take the time to marvel at them while he cuddled with her in bed. But he hadn't. He hadn't thought there was time then; he hadn't known there wouldn't be time later. "I told her we had to get back to work. God, I'm such an ass. How the hell could I say that when she wanted to talk to me?"

Elliot stared at the brick under his legs and thought about smashing his head into it. It might dull the pain for the period he spent unconscious, but he didn't have the strength to move.

"I wouldn't think she'd want to talk to you if you'd raped her, Elliot." He spoke the words carefully, as though he was unsure of them.

"Maybe she wanted me to explain myself. Maybe she wanted me to say I was sorry." He knew Olivia was too strong to let rape, even by him, destroy her. She'd probably want an explanation. She'd probably want him to beg for mercy before she blew his fucking kneecaps off.

"But you didn't talk. So you walked away?" Huang had apparently gotten over his personal feelings and was back to being his normal inquisitive self.

Nodding, Elliot continued to contemplate the brick. He was thinking he might be able to hit it hard enough to knock himself out, yet not cause any permanent damage. At least that way, Olivia could still enjoy killing him while he was healthy. And then he started to wonder if he would dream while he was unconscious. If he would, it wouldn't be worth it. Unless he dreamed of the way her mouth fit against his, the way her tongue felt in his mouth. He'd forgotten about the kiss, the way she'd let him hold her

"I kissed her. Before I left, I kissed her." He hadn't given himself time to really remember the rest; he'd gotten stuck at the memory of how he'd fucked her every time he'd dared recall it. He'd never let himself think about the way they'd left it, at least, the way they'd left it before it had taken a detour around Dani. "We were going to talk about it after work. She wanted to do that."

Huang smiled, actually having a hint of a blush color his cheeks. "Doesn't sound so much like force to me anymore." He cocked his head to the side. "How did you end up fighting again?"

"When I got back to my desk, Dani Beck was there." Elliot bit his lip, wishing that he could go back and change that moment for the millionth time. "And then Olivia came back and saw her and got pissed off."

Huang's eyes widened a bit, as though he'd never expected Elliot was a lothario. "And it upset Olivia because you and Dani were-" He raised his eyebrows and waited for Elliot to fill in the blank.

But he shook his head. "They were just rumors. But I never thought she even heard them, let alone believed them. I was going to tell her when I followed her."

"So your partner, with whom you've quite literally just begun a tenuous intimate relationship sees you talking to a woman she believes is your ex-girlfriend and starts an argument and then gets kidnapped before you can apologize." Huang shook his head, finding pity for Elliot's predicament.

"I've got fan-fucking-tastic timing, don't I?"

Huang nodded, a rare grin crossing his face. "I think you two are long overdue for a serious talk."

The light feeling of the moment faded as Elliot turn to meet Huang's eyes. "You really don't think I hurt her? I didn't mean to. I would never intentionally hurt her, but what if-"

Huang shook his head, cutting off Elliot's words. "Not if what you told me is true. I don't think a conscious Detective Benson would have allowed you to walk away if you'd hurt her. In fact, I think-"

"I'd have a hole in my head if I had."

Huang nodded. "That sounds about right." He smiled. "Although, she might have castrated you first."

Elliot chuckled at the thought, recognizing the spunk and ferocity of his partner in Huang's words. He wanted to see her, to tell her, provided he ever found the courage to admit he'd talked to Huang about it. And then he remembered why he couldn't. Any good vibes left him as he hung his head. "What the hell am I supposed to do without her?"

Huang stood up. "I wouldn't give up on her, Elliot. I meant it when I said she was strong." He started back toward the precinct.

"She's not invincible." It was a hard thing for him to realize. She'd made it through so many things unscathed that he'd started to wonder if she was bulletproof. But there was evidence that she wasn't, no matter how much she'd survived in her past.

"I think you're strong too and I think if anyone's going to find her, it's you." Huang let his somber face convey how serious his words were meant to be. "This experience will be hard for her. I don't know what she's going through or what she'll have to go through, but she'll need support to get over it. She might need to borrow some of your strength."

Elliot wasn't sure how he was still breathing, let alone standing upright. He certainly didn't have any strength for himself. But he could probably scrounge some up for Olivia if she needed it. "She can have anything she wants from me."

As they neared the front doors, Elliot stopped walking. "Look, I, uh-" He hated needing help. He hated accepting help. And he hated admitting that he'd needed and accepted help by being thankful, but he couldn't let Huang's counsel go without a word. Huang had been right about letting it out and Elliot was pretty sure he deserved to hear it. "I really appreciate you listening like this."

Huang nodded and offered a smile. "Anytime, Elliot."

Elliot nodded, refusing to think about ever getting to another point where things were so messed up that he'd need to talk to him again. But then, he'd thought that before. There was no point in burning any bridges. "But you might need to join the witness protection program when Olivia finds out what I told you."

Huang laughed. "Are you going to tell her?"

"I couldn't keep it from her. It wouldn't be right for her not to know that you know about-" He was afraid of how she'd react, but he was excited at the prospect that she'd be home, safe and sound, when he told her. "Not that I'm particularly looking forward to it."

"Well, I won't say a word. I'll leave that to you." Huang turned to leave.

"Thanks, doc. I mean it." He climbed the steps feeling a renewed desire to help the investigation. It would be much easier without the millstone of guilt holding him down.


	19. T Minus 5 Days, part 3

T Minus 5 Days, cont'd

Elliot rounded the corner into the bull pen, searching for someone who could bring him up to speed on the investigation. Cragen's office was empty, sending a chill of fear through him. Fin and Lake's desks were abandoned also. Munch was there though, calling him over with a nod.

The older man tucked the phone receiver under his chin. "I'm still tracking down a couple million sets of prints from that dumpster. Fin and Lake have Derek Santini in interrogation; Cragen's looking on."

"Thanks." Elliot went in search of Cragen, wanting to see who things were going with Natalie's boyfriend.

As he stepped into the room, he heard Derek's voice considerably less intimidating than it had been that last time he'd been at the 16. "I don't know nothing about that lady cop. I only saw her a couple of times."

Fin was leaning against the wall, glaring. Lake was seated across from Derek and he leaned in, his normally friendly face angry. "Don't you mean the bitch who ruined your life?"

Derek's eyes went wide, as though he'd never expected his words would come back to haunt him. "I didn't-"

Fin joined in, crowding Derek's side. "Don't bullshit us, man. We all heard you."

Lake got up, walked around the table, and crowded in on Derek's other side. "Yeah, we did. We all saw you grab her too."

Fin shook his head. "That's not ok, Derek. You shouldn't be grabbing women and threatening them."

Derek's voice reflected terror. "I didn't threaten her."

Lake laughed with no humor at all. "It sounded like a threat to me. What did you think partner?"

Fin nodded. "Yeah, it did." He leaned in further, causing Derek to cringe and shrink against Lake, who immediately shoved him off. "You know, Ches, I don't think I'd like somebody threatening you, since you're my partner and all."

Taking the hint, Lake nodded. "Partners are special, Derek. Bet you didn't know that."

Derek looked like he was trying to shrink into himself or perhaps slide under the table. "I didn't threaten her. I just wanted her to talk to Natalie's father."

Fin ignored him, continuing to talk to Lake. "I wonder how Olivia's partner liked hearing her get threatened like that."

Lake grinned behind Derek's head, considering they all knew the answer to that question. "Maybe we should bring him in here and ask him."

Fin nodded, backing off Derek's side. "Yeah, I think Elliot might like a few minutes alone with you."

Derek's eyes were comically wide. "You mean the big guy?"

Fin grinned and nodded. "I should probably warn you, he's got this thing about guys who hit women, especially his partner."

Lake threw a file folder in front of Derek, pointing to something on one of the pages. "It says right there that Natalie said you beat her up." He looked up and shook his head at Fin. "Damn, Elliot's not going to like you at all. You attacking your girlfriend and his partner."

"What can I do to make it better? There's got to be something, right? You want me to do something for you?" Derek looked like he was about to cry.

It was more than a little disappointing since Elliot's gut told him Derek didn't know a damn thing about Olivia's abduction. He pressed the button on the speaker, silencing the observation room and turning to his boss. "He's a punk. He doesn't know shit."

Cragen took a long moment to size him up before he slowly nodded. "I don't think a scrawny kid like that could get a jump on Olivia anyway, but he was in here threatening her the night it happened."

Elliot knocked on the door, calling Fin and Lake into the other room. Derek saw Elliot and his eyes widened even further. The fear on his face gave them all a momentary smile.

Fin shook his head. "I think he's about to wet his pants."

Cragen seemed disappointed, even though it had been a long shot. "Cut him loose. He doesn't know anything."

Lake and Fin shared a look before Lake sighed unhappily. "Damn, we were having fun."

Cragen led the way back to the other room. "Ok, Derek was the last of the possibilities who weren't on your list. So let's divvy up the recent releases and get started on them."

Elliot nodded, thinking he should probably get a shower and change before he actually tried working. But just as he was going to explain himself to Cragen, another idea struck him. "Did anyone talk to Howie?"

Cragen shook his head. "I don't recognize the name. Who's Howie?" He stepped into his office for a moment to retrieve some paperwork.

"Probably no one. Someone we talked to in connection with Natalie." Elliot's brow furrowed as he recalled the way he'd abandoned Olivia while they were talking to him. "She said he creeped her out. Didn't seem like a threat to me, but-"

"Munch, you and Elliot go find Howie. See what his feelings are about coming in for a little chat."

Olivia hated driving. She hated the crazy way people tried to kill themselves in the city, she'd always claimed. Kathy had simply never gotten a drivers license, preferring all types of public transportation to driving. So Elliot was used to driving. He didn't mind; he was perfectly willing to admit, provided no one was listening, that he liked the control. He hated sitting in the passenger seat, letting someone else take him somewhere.

But when they headed out of the precinct, Elliot found himself opting to slide in on the opposite side and letting Munch take the wheel. Since his talk with Huang, he was calmer, less upset with himself. But he was still anxious, desperate to know where his partner was, clinging to the hope that nothing irreparable had happened to her.

Despite the fact that he did feel quite relieved to have spilled his guts to Huang, Elliot had no desire to discuss his feelings or his relationships with anyone else, most especially Munch. Of course Munch never had any qualms with prying into someone's personal life, so he spent the first few minutes of the ride sizing up his temporary partner's mood.

"So was the good doctor handing out happy pills this morning?"

Elliot looked at Munch curiously, but didn't bother to respond. In all the years they'd worked together, Elliot had come to one conclusion regarding the other man – that being that Munch was the rumor mill. Anything anyone said to Munch somehow got disseminated throughout the precinct within a matter or hours without Munch ever looking the slightest bit guilty.

And there was no fucking way Elliot was adding anything to the list of things people loved to repeat about himself and Olivia.

"Seriously, Elliot, you seem much calmer since you returned. Huang help you put things in perspective?" His deadpan delivery did nothing to help Elliot believe anything he said was a joke. "There are other fish in the sea, right? Other cops to partner with? Other partners to do the mattress mambo with?"

Elliot really wished he'd been driving just then because he would have loved the chance to slam on the brakes and demand that Munch get out of the car. As it was, his only recourse was to get out of the car, which wasn't necessarily a good idea while it was moving.

Instead of answering, Elliot clenched his jaw and told himself that hitting Munch would be a low blow. Hitting Munch would be morally worse than hitting Olivia; at least Olivia stood a snowball's chance in hell of landing a return punch.

"Dani's back in town, right? That's got to make you happy, knowing she came back and all."

All the good his little talk with Huang had done was erased in that second, at the sound of Dani's name.

"Fuck you, Munch!" 

Munch actually jumped in surprise at the sudden shout. "Damn, Elliot, I thought you were all mellowed out on lithium or something."

"Fuck off." Elliot wasn't sure anymore if hitting Munch was out of the question. No matter how hard he'd tried in his life, morals had rarely actually come into play when he had to make a decision.

"So Dani's not back in town?" Munch was waggling his eyebrows, thinking something was funny about the situation.

"Jesus, Munch, just shut the fuck up!" Between Munch and Lake, Elliot was starting to think he was going to have to hit someone in the squad. Maybe if he decked one of them, everyone else would back the fuck off. If nothing else, it would make him feel better.

"How the hell does Olivia put up with you?"

Elliot shrugged. "Liv and I have been partners for ten years. How many partners have you had again?"

"I didn't take the sergeants exam because Fin and I were having a lovers quarrel."

The idea that someone thought something inappropriate was going on between them pissed Elliot off the same as always, despite the recent turn of events, because that assumption had been made a long time before the recent turn of events and Elliot absolutely resented it. "I'm giving you a warning because it wouldn't be a fair fight, but that's all you're going to get, got me?"

Munch was quiet, allowing Elliot a moment to think his threat had made a dent. But then the older man grinned. "Do the three of you hang out a lot?"

"The three of who?" Elliot dragged his hand over his face, feeling exhausted. He needed sleep. Fuck that, he needed to find Liv. Then he would get sleep. He hid a smile as he thought that perhaps, after finding Liv, they could curl up together and get the rest they both deserved.

"You and Liv and Dani." Munch was acting nonchalant, but Elliot didn't believe for one second that he didn't know he was pushing buttons. "You guys seemed all chummy the other night, you know, until you started hurling insults at each other. Family feud?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, knock it off." Cracking his knuckles, Elliot began to seriously contemplate how much trouble he would get in for taking out some of his anger and frustration on someone who was pretty defenseless in a fist fight. 

Munch chuckled at something only he thought was funny. "I still don't see it. Liv is so well-spoken while your vocabulary appears limited at times. How do you get along so well?"

So Munch liked Liv better. It wasn't much of a shock. Everyone liked Liv better. At least, every male like Liv better. "Maybe because she doesn't mention Dani every other word."

Munch laughed. "Yes, I can see how that might be off limits between you two."

Elliot shifted sideways in the car, fixing his pointed glare at Munch. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Munch glanced at him and then shrugged. "Nothing."

"No, I think it means something. I don't think you would have bothered to say it if it didn't mean something." He didn't avert his eyes and therefore noticed Munch growing more uncomfortable by the second.

Finally reaching their destination, Munch pulled off the street and met Elliot's glare. "I just think you should be careful."

"Careful of what?" Elliot felt nervous butterflies amassing in his stomach. There was something about Munch's tone that made him fearful that his normally slightly insane conspiracy theories were only a cover for a highly observant mind.

Munch shrugged. "I like Olivia. I don't want to see her get hurt."

"And I do? She's my partner." He immediately bristled at the suggestion because no matter how often he accidentally did it, he never really intended to hurt her.

Checking the side view mirror, Munch climbed out of the car and fell in step beside Elliot. "I don't think you're as unaware as you pretend to be, Elliot. And I don't think either of us is really talking about work here."

Elliot's feet stopped moving, unsure of what to say. If there was anyone who'd picked up on any subtle change in their relationship the few minutes he and Olivia were in the same room after their relationship had become intimate, it would be Munch. And there was something about Munch's attitude that deeply disturbed Elliot. Shaking his head with a smile, he realized he was getting as paranoid as Munch. "Mind your own damn business." He started walking again, determined to end the conversation.

But Munch reached out, his hand catching Elliot's arm. "Seriously. Don't fuck with her. If you're just screwing around, enjoying your freedom or whatever, don't do that to her."

Elliot tried to brush off the unnervingly accurate timing. "Isn't that my line? Busting the balls of anyone trying to screw her over." He pulled his arm free and stepped around Munch.

"I'll turn your ass in before I let you break her heart."

Elliot's feet stilled once again, his torso twisting to stare back at Munch. He recognized the challenge, knew that Munch wanted an assurance that he'd never hurt Olivia. But Elliot wasn't about to give Munch anything he could use to feed the machine. He wasn't about to let the rumor start that they were fucking around. That rumor had been going around for years, but it could be devastating once they were no longer honestly able to vehemently deny it. He swallowed hard and glared at Munch. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. So I think you'd better stay out of it."

Munch nodded slowly, giving far more thought to Elliot's words than were necessary. Then he stepped forward, crowding into Elliot's face with an angry scowl. "There's no lock on the door to the crib. Why don't you think about that?"

And then Elliot was left alone on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where Munch had stood, wondering if his heart had just stopped beating.


	20. T Minus 5 Days, part 4

T Minus 5 Days, cont'd

Elliot couldn't find his voice. He couldn't find voluntary control of his muscles either. While he found himself catching up with Munch, he wasn't sure how he was walking or why he wasn't beating the living shit out of the man. Instead, he choked on the unreleased fury, the ire that rose in him, the hatred he felt coursing through him at the idea that someone, even unintentionally, had violated the privacy, the intimacy, the connection. Olivia had allowed him to touch her, had accepted what he was able to give her at that moment, had given him what he wanted to take. But the consent she'd given had only extended to him, she'd allowed him to see her like that, but she never consented to anyone else seeing that, never agreed that anyone else know what she'd done. 

Elliot was terrified that he was going to have to tell her, after they found her and rescued her from probably being raped and tortured, that everyone she knew was well aware that she'd let Elliot fuck her. And depending on what Munch had seen, the rumor mill might know way too much about how it had happened. He thought he might be sick, thinking of all the stories and jokes that would be told about Olivia liking it rough, about why she stayed in SVU, about the two of them getting off on acting out some sick rape fantasy, about Elliot nailing her in such an undignified way for years.

Just as they reached the building, Elliot's rage boiled over. He grabbed Munch's jacket, shoving him hard into the stone wall, showing no mercy when Munch's unsuspecting head bobbed off the hard surface. His fists were tight on Munch's collar, shaking him as he yelled in his face.

"What did you see? What?" Had Olivia been there, she might have pointed out that his explosive reaction would give away anything that Munch hadn't already seen. But Olivia wasn't there. Olivia had been kidnapped. Olivia was hurt, had been hurt by him and someone else too. And Olivia's character was about to be assassinated by gossip while she was away. Elliot hadn't been able to protect her, neither from himself nor from whoever had taken her, but he wasn't about to stand by and watch as people belittled her.

Fuck that, he'd confess to raping her, false or not, before he'd let Munch spread that rumor about her.

He shook the shocked man harder, trying to force an answer out of him. "Tell me what the fuck you saw, damn it!"

Munch was well aware that he was no physical match for Elliot, but he also knew that Elliot's emotions usually had control over his thought process. His eyes darted to the side, making up something that would cause a slight grin to appear. "Campus Security is on their way."

Elliot immediately let go, fearing that Cragen would catch wind of his reaction. He turned to the side, to judge the risk for himself. There was no one coming. No one had noticed anything out of the ordinary. He faced the older man with renewed anger. "You lying son of a bitch."

Munch shrugged, having slipped to the side and moved out of Elliot's reach. "True, but I'm not bleeding."

Not about to let it go, Elliot thought of Olivia, of her mortification should the tale spread. He moved to block Munch's path and spoke through clenched teeth. "I want to know what the fuck you saw."

With a raised eyebrow, Munch continued to tease. "What exactly are you afraid I saw?"

"You said you wanted to protect her. If you don't want to see her hurt, you'd better fucking tell me what you saw."

"Why does what I saw matter?" Munch's eyes were bright, as though the idea of spreading the story was undeniably exciting.

"Because whatever you saw, you probably misunderstood." He was resigned to it. He'd have a hell of a time facing Huang, but he didn't care. If Munch had seen them, if Munch had been there while he was using her body for his pleasure, if Munch had witnessed the brutal way he'd pounded himself into her, if Munch had heard her screaming her pleasure into his hand, Elliot was going to fix it the only way he knew how. He'd confess right to Munch's face. Hell, he could have himself a plea bargain and be serving time by the time anyone found Olivia. 

Anything would be worth it. Anything was worth protecting her. Because she'd given him all she had in those few minutes. She'd given him herself and he wasn't going to let that ruin her reputation.

Shaking his head, Munch looked thoroughly amused. "Judging from your calm demeanor, apparently I only saw part of the show."

Elliot swallowed hard, refusing to give another damn thing away. He spoke slowly, making each word seem like its own sentence. "What did you see?"

Munch chuckled. "I saw a kiss that damn near peeled the paint off the walls. I mean, damn, I've tamer Harlequin covers. Fabio would have been blushing."

Once again, Elliot's jaw fell open, utterly stupefied. "You only saw us kissing?"

And then, only then, did Munch finally get it. His mouth dropped open as well, his eyes closing as his brain tried to process the information. Gathering himself, his brow furrowed as he sized up Elliot's angry scowl. "What didn't I see?"

Elliot shook his head, unsure which one of them he was angrier at. "I'm going to fucking kill you, Munch."

"Come on, Elliot, that kiss I saw, well, really, after my four ill-fated marriages, I thought things like that only happened in romance novels." He was pushing for more details, desperate to know what more there was, knowing it had to be something to explain Elliot's furious response.

"You read a lot of those?" Although laughter found its way past his lips, he didn't feel it. He was too pissed off at himself, at Munch, to find any true enjoyment in the moment.

"Whatever it was, Elliot, my warning still stands." Munch pulled open the library door.

Elliot followed him, still wanting to hit him to drive the point home. "If you don't want her hurt, maybe you should keep what you saw to yourself."

With a conspiratorial grin, Munch leaned back to whisper in a voice conscious of their quiet surroundings. "What about what I didn't see? When am I getting the low down on that?"

"Low down? You were partners with Fin too long." Elliot ignored Munch's question entirely, nodding at Angela Andrews and bringing the woman to the counter. "Is Howie upstairs?"

Her eyes widened as her glance shifted nervously to the steps. "Oh my god, was it him? I just spoke with him yesterday! Is he a rapist?"

Aware of all the stares Angela's shriek had caused, Munch shook his head. "No, ma'am, that was all a misunderstanding. We'd just like to talk to Howie."

Her eyes moved from Munch to Elliot, as though having seen him previously made him more reliable. "Is Natalie ok?"

"Natalie's just fine, Ms. Andrews. There were some things we wanted to follow up on with Howie." Elliot watched the way her eyes darted back to Munch and he wanted to kick himself for having acted like an ass the first time they'd met. Had he not been busy acting like a jerk to Olivia, the librarian might have trusted him. 

He shook his head at himself, realizing there were quite a lot of things he might have gotten besides the librarian's trust had be not been busy acting like a jerk to Olivia. He wondered if Hallmark made cards that started out 'Sorry I've been a pompous ass for all the years we've known each other.' Olivia certainly deserved something for putting up with him.

Slowly she nodded. "He's upstairs in the periodicals, like always. You're sure he's not a rapist?"

Certain of no such thing, considering they were there to question him about Olivia, Elliot smiled instead of answering. "Thanks for your help."

As they climbed the stairs, Munch went back to the fun he'd abandoned. "So if you were worried about me seeing something that would make that lip lock seemed like nothing, I'm quite curious as to what else might have been going on up there." He leaned on the door at the top of the stairs, blocking Elliot's path as he pretended to ponder the thought. "The windows were up, so I wonder what you might have been trying to hide by getting a little fresh air in there." 

"Know what I'm wondering?" Elliot shoved Munch aside and pulled the door open. "How is it that none of your wives ever killed you?"

Munch smiled in a manner that Elliot found entirely annoying. "They might have tried, except I was never knocking boots with my partners." He slowed down as he walked, once again blocking Elliot's path. "Of course, none of my partners were any where near as attractive as Olivia."

Seeing a chance, he took it and tried to laugh. "You got a thing for Liv? I'll put in a good word for you." He stepped around Munch, hoping the conversation would die.

But Munch was having too much fun, especially since Elliot hadn't dismissed the kiss as having meant nothing or being a mistake. "I doubt she'd think much of me beside a strong, handsome man like you."

Glaring at him, Elliot grinned. "If you have a thing for me, however, we're going to have a problem."

Munch leaned in, invading Elliot's personal space. "As much of a problem as I'm going to have ever setting foot in the crib again?"

Elliot pointed to the last row of cubes against the wall. "That's Howie." Then he smiled. "And if you don't forget what you saw, you're going to have a lot of problems doing a lot of things when I put you in the hospital, are we clear?"

Sensing that the joking was well over, Munch nodded. "Crystal. As long as you know I wasn't kidding about turning you in."

Letting out a sigh, Elliot rolled his eyes. "How the fuck is that going to not hurt Olivia?"

"It'll hurt less if I scuttle the ship than if you do."

There was something in Munch's expression, in his dark eyes, that told Elliot he would do anything he thought might help. Someday, Elliot was going to take a lot of pleasure in teasing Olivia about the loyalty she inspired in her male friends. Until then, he found it really fucking irritating that everyone was stepping on his toes to protect his partner. So he turned to honesty, hoping it was what Munch was seeking. "I would die before I hurt her."

Munch stared at him for a moment before he offered a curt nod. "That's what I wanted to hear."

"Fuck you, Munch." He didn't dare give Munch another chance to continue the conversation. Instead he crossed the room, pulling out the chair next to Howie and sitting down. "Hi, Howie."

The man was startled, jumping in his seat and glancing between Elliot and Munch before he awkwardly set his book down. He quietly cleared his throat, ignoring Munch when he took the seat on his other side. "You're that detective from before. You work with the pretty lady." At Elliot's nod, he smiled. "How are you?"

Elliot was sizing up the man, giving him a much more intense inspection than he had previously. Munch, in the meantime, was looking at Howie's accumulated reading materials with an amused smile. Elliot tried to find something in Howie's face that would indicate anything other than his initial impression that Howie was pretending to be a lot smarter than he really was. He wanted to think he was that much closer to bringing Olivia home.

He didn't find any hope. "I'll tell you what, Howie, I'm honestly not very good."

Howie's eyes widened further before turning to Munch. "Is something wrong?"

Munch held up the top book, large silver letters indicating that it was the Encyclopedia of Female Reproductive Anatomy. "A little light reading?"

Elliot noticed the next book, a string of incomprehensible words meaning nothing to him besides that they had something to do with the diagram of an airplane wing underneath them. "So, Howie, which is it? Women or planes, which are you into?"

Howie shrugged. "Both, I guess." His fingers grazed the cover of the smaller book, tracing the outline of the wing. "Airplanes are neat, aren't they?"

Elliot glanced at Munch, who shrugged. "Yes, airplanes are neat."

Munch leaned in, dropping the graphically illustrated encyclopedia back on top of the plane. "But women are neater?"

Howie cheeks turned red and he shrugged. "Sure."

Elliot was ready to storm off again. "Munch, let's go." There was no point in wasting time with someone who'd probably faint if a woman like Olivia touched him.

But, just as the first time talking to Howie, his partner didn't budge when Elliot stood. Instead, Munch smiled at Howie. "You remember who talked to you the last time you saw Elliot?"

Howie glanced at Elliot and then looked at Munch. "Is that Elliot?" When Munch nodded, Howie smiled. "Yeah, she was pretty."

Munch nodded again. "She certainly is."

Howie leaned closer to Munch, lowering his voice to a whisper. "She had a bruise. Right here." He reached up and indicated his cheek.

Elliot bent down, trying to listen in without letting Howie know. But the mention of Dr. Phil's handiwork caused him to growl. 

Howie shrunk closer to Munch. "I think he did it."

Munch looked up at Elliot, smirking that even a moron like Howie had come to the same conclusion as Munch regarding Elliot somehow hurting Olivia. "Now why would you think that?"

"He was treating her like shit. He was mad at her." He gestured at the pile of books on his desk. "You don't have to be a rocket scientist to know when someone's getting hurt."

Munch's glare stayed on Elliot's face until Elliot felt awful enough to look down. Then Munch turned back to Howie. "Have you seen her since then?"

Howie reached out, pulling a tattered bookmark out of one of his books. "Olivia gave me this."

Munch looked down, recognizing the business card stamped with Olivia's name and number. "Did you call Olivia?"

Howie shook his head, another blush rising to his face. "I don't usually know what to say to pretty girls."

Munch shook his head. "Me either."

"Is Natalie ok? I haven't seen her since a while ago." Howie carefully replaced the business card in his shirt pocket.

Elliot nodded, wishing Munch had taken the card when he'd had the chance. The card was a little too worn for having been so recently distributed and it bugged him that Howie might be staring at it, thinking about Olivia, doing god knew what to settle any feelings he might have about the pretty lady he wasn't sure what to say to. "Natalie's fine, Howie."

He was already back at the stairs when he heard Munch thank Howie for his time. When they were heading back to the precinct, Elliot looked over at Munch. "That was a complete waste of time."

Munch shrugged. "At least we know we're not alone in thinking that Olivia's pretty." He smiled at Elliot.

Elliot shook his head. "Pretty is for teenage girls, Munch. Olivia's fucking gorgeous."

With a snicker, Munch nodded. "Amen to that."

They barely set foot back at the 16 before Cragen handed them their half of the suspect list. "Fin and Lake are already two down. Get to work."

But that time, Elliot snatched the keys from Munch's grasp and settled himself behind the wheel. No one else was going to take charge of the investigation. Cragen and Huang had been right, Elliot knew; Olivia was going to need him when they found her. And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to be the one who got there first.


	21. T Minus 4 Days, part 1

T Minus 4 Days

Twelve hours, three suspects, and four ounces of whiskey later, Elliot was back at Olivia's apartment. He'd tried going home. He'd managed to stay there long enough to grab a duffel bag with a change of clothes, the bottle of whiskey, and the envelope full of pictures. There wasn't even any conscious thought as he gathered his things. He'd been running on some kind of autopilot.

In fact, when he'd realized that he was standing just inside her door with an overnight bag, he wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten there. But he felt better there than he felt anywhere else, not that it was saying much. He'd dropped right onto the couch, unscrewed the cap of the bottle, and pulled out the pictures. 

He had nothing against Munch. Not really. There had been those few tense moments where Munch's mouth had damn near caused itself to suddenly lose all its teeth. But the day had seemed interminable, dragging all over town, chasing down parolees at home and work, trotting back to the precinct several times in the vain hope of a new piece of information. Every minute seemed to be a little worse than the one before either because he'd glance to his right to make eye contact with his partner in the middle of a conversation only to be startled by Munch's presence or because he'd been forced to hear rather graphic descriptions of what the bastards would like to do to whatever choice word they used to describe Olivia which naturally led him to fear someone else was doing those very same things to her.

The first few swallows went down quickly, right from the bottle, burning every inch of the way to his belly. Then he'd thought better of it, thought of what Olivia would think to have him drinking like that, thought of how she'd probably witnessed it all through her childhood. He dragged himself to the kitchen for a glass, forcing himself to pour a little bit at a time to avoid the spills he'd made at his own place.

In between swallows, he'd kicked off his shoes, taken off his shirt, and settled back into the cushions. He tried to imagine that he was supposed to be there, to think that she was used to him making himself at home in her apartment, to pretend that they were living together, to fantasize that she might emerge from the bedroom at any moment and sleepily encourage him to join her. He smiled into the glass, letting himself indulge in the dream. She'd be sleeping in one of his shirts, leaving her long legs bare for him to see. Her hair would be mussed and her hand would be stifling the yawn that deepened her voice as she called him some endearment that he never would have stood for from Kathy. She'd sit down next to him, folding one leg under her as she settled sideways and threw her arm over the back of the couch behind him.

Her other hand would trace along his forearm, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. A soft smile would form on her lips as she met his eyes. "Come to bed, baby."

He would look at her, drinking in her beautiful face and letting it drown any reason he might have had for indulging in anything else. He'd shift his glass to his other hand, freeing the closer one to tangle with hers. "It was a long day."

Her smile would widen as she leaned closer, her outstretched arm moving to rest against his neck and shoulders. "I know. I missed you."

The glass would be set on the floor, forgotten, unnecessary, freeing his hand to trace her cheek. "I missed you too."

And then she'd sit up on her knees, moving her hands to the front of his shoulders, spreading her legs to straddle him. "I'm glad you're home, El."

Her mouth moved to cover his, her tongue reaching in and sweeping throughout his mouth. Her sweet taste replaced the remnants of the whiskey; her glorious scent filling his head. Any exhaustion, any stress from the day melted away, replaced with a terrible, all-encompassing need to be with her, to be in her, to be a part of her. She pushed against him, her body's reaction obvious in the moisture between her legs, in the way she pressed into his lap. Her hands slid to his chest, blazing a trail for her mouth to follow. Her lips and tongue drew vague designs on his chest while her hands worked at his belt. When her hands finally worked the button, pulling them open, letting the zipper slide down, she smiled at him.

"You were gone too long." Her mouth pressed against his again.

His lips parted, letting her stake her claim. He turned to the side, feeling her mouth nip his chin, his throat. His hands moved from her waist, finding a hold in her hair, gently pulling her back up to look at him. "I'm home now, baby."

She smiled again, her fingers playing, touching, teasing. "I love you."

"I love you too, Liv." He leaned in for another kiss, wanting to make his claim of her the way he'd let her claim him.

But his mouth found only air, his tongue found no inviting, moist heat. His hands were simply in front of him, occupying the empty space all by themselves. His chin trembled with the crushing loneliness of reality. He could still hear his voice, echoing off the walls, his heartfelt words having no audience, answering only the whispers of his imagination.

Angry at himself for letting it become so real, he pulled the whiskey back to his lips and swallowed as much as he could until he came up sputtering. He set it back on the coffee table, trying to ignore the painfully hard erection, throbbing in his pants, begging for his attention, wishing for her attention. He muttered hateful words at himself, despising himself for finding such pleasure, even if there wasn't any release, in the idea of her.

He stumbled down the hall, fumbling with the shower controls, turning the water to cold before stripping off the rest of his clothes. No matter how desperately he wanted her touch, no matter how quickly he'd settle for his own, he wouldn't give in. Not under the circumstances. Not when Olivia was hurting. Not when someone else could be using her body for that same release against her will at that same moment. 

He stepped into the cold stream, letting the icy water cascade over him, cooling his heated body, calming his reaction to the thought of her. Once his body was under control, he adjusted the water, allowing it to warm his shivering frame. He hadn't really thought through the idea of a shower; he'd been desperate to regain control of himself. But he needed the shower, needed to wash the grime of the day and the smell of the whiskey off him, even if the whiskey would be returning before it was worth his while. He reached for the soap, smiling ruefully at the fragrant scent. Like her perfume and lotion, he knew the flowery smell, found it comforting as he lathered it over his body.

As he ran the bar over his chest, one brief thought dared to contemplate what it would be like to have her there, to watch her hands rubbing the soap against his skin, her soft skin sliding across his.

He dropped the soap back into the dish, flipped the water back to freezing, and settled himself under the torturous stream. He shook as he endured his self-prescribed punishment, feeling his chin tremble from the cold. He needed to find Olivia before he drove himself to hypothermia. He could just imagine the look on her face when someone told her that he'd killed himself by accident, froze to death in the shower because he couldn't get his mind to stop conjuring up images of her touching him. It would only be more embarrassing that it was her shower he died in. 

Finally convinced he couldn't take anymore, he switched off the water, grabbed one her towels, and dried himself off. And then he found himself pressing his nose into her towel, adoring the whiff f her laundry detergent. He wanted to laugh at himself, sniffing her towels, nearly getting off every time he thought of her. He needed to call Huang and set up continuous therapy. He was completely insane.

He pulled his boxers on and headed back to the living room, taking a long swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. What he needed, more than anything he decided, was to get his damn mind out of the gutter. God forbid the moment he found her, hurt and scared and glad to be safe, because he'd be so fucking turned on at the sight of her that he wouldn't be able to control himself.

Not that it would be a switch from the last time he'd seen her.

The whiskey wasn't working like he wanted, not when he had to maintain control of his mind, not when he needed to censor his thoughts. The whole point of the alcohol was to lose himself, his pain, in it, and since he had to keep reminding himself that he couldn't think of her, it defeated the purpose. So he picked up the pictures, flipping through the stack to find one where she was smiling. 

With that in hand, he went back to her bedroom, crawling back beneath the covers. He propped the picture up on her lamp, so he could stare at her face. Her sheets were soft, caressing his bare skin, filling his senses with her. He did find comfort there, lying between her sheets, closing his eyes and knowing that he was in her space. If only she were there beside him, he would have been in heaven. Instead he clung to her blanket and pillows, hoping they weren't the only contact he'd ever have with her again.

The morning came too soon, the peril of drinking himself to sleep in the wee hours of the night. It was disconcerting to wake up there, having his body immediately recognize her smell, her place, her things, yet forcing himself to realize he was there without her. It was upsetting, dispelling the irrational hope, the fervent belief that dared to seed in those short moments when he first became conscious and thought there might be some way that her abduction had been a dream.

Hungover, both physically from the alcohol and mentally from the situation, he forced himself out of bed. He dressed quickly, retrieving his clothes from the bathroom and shoving them, the whiskey, and the pictures into his duffel. He hesitated then though, because something told him he'd be no better off that evening unless he found Olivia. He decided that she'd be mad to come home and find that he'd moved into her house. Therefore, if he left the bed unmade and his bag on her couch, he felt it would thus increase the odds that Olivia would be home safe and sound that evening.

With his twisted logic in place, he headed off to work to face what he hoped would be the last day he had to wake up without knowing where Olivia was, possibly even that last day he had to wake up without Olivia being the first thing he saw.

He was reasonably cheered when he got there. Cragen was helping out, taking over for Munch with checking the fingerprints from the dumpster. Munch was working on sorting the names on the list he and Elliot had been working on, trying to find the fastest route to hit as many of them as possible in one day. Elliot was having his coffee and aspirin breakfast again, wondering if he was going to have an ulcer to show Olivia as proof of his concern.

Cragen emerged from his office, calling Fin over. Giving into the paranoia, Elliot leaned back in his chair and tried to listen in. Cragen had run across a name in his fingerprint search that sounded familiar. Fin confirmed the information, finding the name on his list.

Elliot's eyes narrowed, joining the conversation uninvited. "Mark Avery's prints were at the scene?"

Cragen nodded curtly, searching his memory for the name. "Raped his girlfriend, right?"

Elliot nodded. "Ex-girlfriend. He just got released a little under a month ago. It looked like he was going to get off because the defense smeared her reputation." He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide the tight fists he was making, knowing it would give away how terribly angry he was. "Olivia convinced his daughter to testify against him. Pissed Avery off."

Fin joined in, recalling the perp. "Yeah, I remember him. They had to carry him out of the courtroom cause he was screaming about how he was going to make Olivia pay for turning his girls against him."

Elliot was angry at himself, wishing he'd thought about Avery earlier, wishing he'd been the first suspect they questioned. "He said he'd kill her. He looked right at us and said he'd fucking kill her."

Cragen tapped Fin on the shoulder. "Pick him up." Elliot went to follow, but Cragen caught his attention. "Let Fin and Lake pick him up. I'll let you talk to him when he gets here." Seeing Elliot's unhappiness with his decree, he continued. "I seem to remember you giving him a black eye after he threatened Olivia." Cragen smiled when Elliot looked down. "The minute he sees you he'll clam up. We'll never get him in here if he knows you're involved. I'd rather have him here where we can all keep an eye on him."

Elliot clenched his teeth, feeling hope that they had a good lead. He wanted to get his hands on Avery and see what he could shake out of the man. He fought to keep control because he knew that Cragen would be watching him. "His prints are on the dumpster outside Liv's building?"

Cragen nodded, easily able to guess Elliot's next question. "There are thousands of prints, Elliot. The crime lab is working through them as fast as they can. They have no way of knowing until they run each one which is going to produce a real lead."

Elliot thought about it, trying to remain calm, understanding technically there was no way of looking at an array of thousands of prints and knowing which would be important. "I'll give his PO a call, see if he has anything useful for me."

Thirty minutes later, Elliot was facing Mark Avery for the first time in five years, for the first time since the man had threatened to kill Olivia, for the first time since Olivia had disappeared. Mark Avery stood six foot four. During their original investigation, Avery had been a recovering heroin addict, his muscles practically wasted away to nothing, his frame incredibly slight for a man so tall. But he'd been one of the few success stories of drug rehab, managing to steer clear of the supply in prison. Instead he had spent all his time inside working out and his formerly lanky frame had filled out into solid muscle. So besides the three inches, Avery also had about fifty pounds on Elliot.

There was no doubt whatsoever that the man could have taken Olivia easily, no matter how much of a fight she would have put up, and there was no doubt he had every reason to. Elliot was trying to hold back his fury, hoping Avery would give up something quickly. Tall and strong might have made the difference in a contest of strength with Olivia, but he'd never been all that smart and Elliot was praying that would give him the advantage.

\/p


	22. T Minus 4 Days, part 2

T Minus 4 Days, cont'd

Avery had arrived at the station with exactly the attitude they all expected. He whined and belly-ached to Fin and Lake, bitching about how he'd done his time and threatening to sue them for harassment. Elliot had stayed out of sight, letting the others drag Avery into interrogation. But rather than settling in and questioning him, Fin and Lake backed off, leaving the room.

Cragen was stationed behind the mirror, ready to intervene if necessary. But he knew no one in his squad was better equipped to break Avery. He knew the individual strengths of his team, as well as their abilities to work as pairs. There were times when Munch's sarcasm, Lake's intelligence, Fin's street smarts, and Olivia's finesse were the best way to get information out of a suspect. Mark Avery, with his imposing physical characteristics and outspoken hatred of police, was best matched by Elliot's intimidating presence. Elliot's rage at having his partner hurt, as well as his predilection to sublimate the affection he felt for his partner into unbridled anger, were likely to have Avery singing like a bird. And with their history, with Elliot having previously established his self-appointment as Olivia's defender, Cragen figured Avery would either immediately clear himself or cement himself as their primary suspect.

Elliot stepped into the room, damn near having already tried and convicted Avery.

Avery looked up, his irritated glare melting into recognition and then surprise. "What the fuck do you want?"

To the observers, Elliot appeared to be sizing him up, perhaps trying to get under Avery's skin. On the contrary, Elliot was simply trying to retain control of himself, resisting the urge to declare himself Avery's executioner. Because he wanted to slam Avery's head into the wall until he would no longer be a threat to any woman anywhere. He had to keep reminding himself that killing Avery might keep them from finding Olivia.

Finally, Elliot sat down across from the object of his hatred, looking over the file before him. "Mark Avery. Served five years of an eight year sentence." He raised an eyebrow, as though it was actually news to him. "They let you out early for good behavior, huh?"

Avery folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah, so?"

Elliot shut the file. "Wouldn't have thought you were capable of good behavior."

He smiled, appearing to like having irritated Elliot. "Why is that?" 

Elliot smiled back, letting the expression wage war with his furious stare. "Because you're a rapist, asshole."

Avery snarled. "I did my time. Lost five years of my life because my girlfriend was pissed off at me and went around telling lies."

"That's not what your daughter said." Elliot knew the mention of the girl would upset Avery. The girl was the only reason Avery had been locked up.

Avery was on his feet, kicking his chair back against the wall. "Because your whore girlfriend told her to lie!"

Elliot was on his feet in a second, tensing his muscles, ready to fight. "Sit down."

Avery swallowed hard and considered the situation before he slowly lowered himself back into his chair. Then his lips curled into a cruel smile. "Where is she anyway?"

"I ask the questions in here, jackass." Thinking himself deserving of praise for his newly discovered well of self-control, Elliot stopped short of patting his own back. "What have you been doing since your release?" The information from the PO had been pretty much useless. Avery was working and showing up unhappily for appointments when he felt it convenient.

"I've been working." 

Elliot seriously doubted Avery was working nine to five and then heading straight home to watch TV. "What else?"

"Making up for lost time." Avery grinned. "Fucking every bitch I see."

He refused to consider what the ramifications of that statement could possibly be. "They're all willing, right?"

The grin on Avery face waned a bit. "Old girls from the neighborhood, you know, they missed me." He shrugged again. "A couple of strippers."

"Strippers offering their services free of charge, I assume?" Elliot really wasn't interested in nailing the ass for prostitution.

Avery nodded. "Mostly working though." He folded his huge hands together on the table, fingers fiddling with an obnoxiously large M-shaped ring. "Gotta pay the bills, you know."

Elliot tried to keep his mind from imaging those hands on Olivia, hurting her, touching her. He swallowed back bile. "What kind of work? It's hard for a fuck-up like you to find a legitimate job, isn't it?"

Avery's eyes darted down, the only tell he gave that he wasn't quite so proud as he would have others believe. "I'm a- uh – what do they call it-" He grinned, finding amusement that wasn't really there. "A sanitation engineer."

Elliot nodded, wishing he could laugh outright at the man, yet knowing Avery might keep back details of Olivia's whereabouts if he did. He only let himself smile. "You're a garbage man." He nodded again, not quite able to resist his urge to taunt. "You spend your days picking up other people's filth. Sounds like a good fit for you."

Avery snarled, grunting and looking away. "I don't touch the shit. I drive the damn truck that picks up the cans."

Elliot's blood ran cold, sending shivers through his body. "You mean the dumpsters? You empty them?"

"Yeah, I drive the truck."

Elliot met Avery's eyes, pissed as hell at the man for existing, for hurting Olivia, for having an answer for everything. "Those trucks pick up the dumpsters, right?" Avery nodded, confusion beginning to settle into his hard features. "So you don't actually touch them yourself?"

Avery shook his head. "Fuck, no, man, you think I'm Superman? I just drive the damn truck."

With a real fuck-you kind of smile, Elliot leaned forward and bit back his desire to cheer. "Then explain to me how your fingerprints wound up on the dumpster outside my partner's building."

Shrugging, Avery sat back. "Sometimes I have to turn them so the truck can pick them up. The boss gets all pissed off if I leave them blocking the alleys."

Elliot was beyond listening to any excuses; he wasn't buying anything Avery was selling. "And you just happened to touch that particular dumpster, huh? Outside Olivia's apartment. Did you ask her to help you move it before you grabbed her?"

Avery stared back, his eyes widening a little as he started to catch on. "Something bad happen to Little Miss Sunshine?" He chuckled. "Gee, I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt your sweet little bitch. She's such a peach."

Elliot's hands were around Avery's throat before he even realized he was on his feet. He was around the table in a second, slamming Avery into the wall with his whole body, not caring at all that his control had snapped. "Where is she? What did you do to her?"

Avery hadn't been expected the attack and wasn't prepared at first, but his arms rose quickly, shoving at Elliot with all his strength. Unable to dislodge Elliot's fierce grip on his throat, he threw a punch, connecting squarely with Elliot's eye. 

Fin and Lake were there, pulling Elliot back before he could retaliate.

Avery rubbed at his throat. "Son of a bitch. I'm gonna sue your ass."

Enraged, Elliot surged away from the hands holding him, grabbing a hold of Avery's collar. "Where is she?"

Avery shoved Elliot back. "Fuck you. I want a fucking lawyer!"

Cragen stepped into the room, pushing all three of his detectives away from the door. "You're not under arrest at this time, Mr. Avery."

Realizing he was getting a chance to walk away, Avery straightened his shirt and smiled. "Course I'm not. Cause I didn't do shit." He brushed past Cragen on his way out.

"Don't leave town, Mr. Avery." Cragen's words didn't receive a reply. At least, not from Avery.

"What the fuck are you doing?" 

"Don't start with me, Elliot." Cragen turned to Lake. "I want you to follow up on what he said. Where he works, his route, if he's supposed to touch the dumpsters, when the last pick up by Olivia's was."

Lake nodded, scurrying from the room. "I'm on it."

Glancing between Cragen and Elliot, Fin jerked his thumb toward the door. "I'll help Lake."

"He threatened to kill her." Elliot wasn't sure who he was angrier at, Cragen or Avery. Avery hadn't disappointed him. "You heard what he said. He might as well have admitted to taking her."

"I heard what he said." Cragen's frown revealed how he felt about hearing the derogatory comments Avery had made. "I also heard him have a reasonable explanation for why he was at the scene."

Elliot didn't say a word. He just stared at the floor, furious and unable to do anything to expel it.

"Go get some ice before your eye swells shut." Cragen stepped out of the room, but turned back before he got far. "Elliot, we'll get him. If Avery has her, we'll get him. But we have to do this by the book, you know that."

As he watched Cragen walk away, an idea came to him. Whoever had taken Olivia knew where she lived. Therefore, unless it was a random attack which no one was really considering, the kidnapper either knew her or followed her. With Phil ruled out, Elliot seriously doubted there were any possible suspects that knew her. If someone had targeted her, had followed her, there could be a witness. It was a long shot, but Elliot was willing to take anything he could get.

Cragen's door was closed and Fin and Lake were tied up on the phone, but Munch was sitting there, coat in hand, list of recent releases at the ready. Elliot grabbed his jacket and nodded toward the door. "Let's go."

Munch climbed in on the passenger side, fastening his seatbelt and reading off the first name. "Keith Klein, lives over on 94th."

Without a word, Elliot turned the car to the left.

Munch looked around for a moment. "Um, 94th is south of here."

"I know." Elliot nodded. "There's something I need to do first."

"Care to let me in on it?" Munch set the list of names on the seat between them.

Elliot shook his head with a rueful smile. "You probably wouldn't approve."

"Then I really need to know." Munch waited patiently for Elliot's answer, which wasn't forthcoming. When they pulled into the parking lot of a medical center, the wheels started to spin. "Just out of curiosity, your wife is a nurse, right?"

Elliot glared at him. "Ex-wife."

Munch shook his head, but fell in step beside Elliot anyway. "Please tell me we're not going to question Kathy."

Elliot shrugged with a smile, pressing the button repeatedly to call the elevator. "I don't think she kidnapped Olivia."

"Oh, well, good." Munch smiled at him. "At least you appear somewhat reasonable."

"But she might know someone who saw something."

Munch hung his head. "Forget what I said about you being reasonable."

Kathy was at the front desk, talking to the secretary about a patient. She looked up with a smile to greet them, but it disappeared instantly as she backed up a step. "Don't make me call Tom, Elliot." Her eyes searched Elliot's face, obviously noticing the swelling around his eye, but not mentioning it.

He shook his head, refusing to even consider how sad it was that the woman who he once thought he'd spend the rest of his life with would no longer look at him without threatening to call her lawyer. "No, Kath, don't call Tom."

She looked nervous, her eyes narrowing. "What's this about?"

Elliot's eyes fell on the secretary who was staring at them. At his pointed stare, she suddenly found something to go file. "Did the PI give you any other pictures?"

Wincing at the mention of the PI, she looked down and shook her head. "No. You have all the ones I saw."

"Were there others? Do you know if he followed Olivia at all?" As usual, Elliot was so intent on getting what he wanted that he didn't notice Kathy's face cloud over.

"I have work to do, Elliot."

He wasn't thinking as he reached over the desk, catching her hand before she turned. "Please, Kathy, I need your help."

She yanked her hand out of his grasp. "Damn it, Elliot, don't make this worse than it already is."

"It can't get any fucking worse." He was there to beg his ex-wife for help, after all. He was about on the ground.

Munch stepped in, trying to diffuse a situation that could become very nasty very quickly. "Kathy, please help us out here."

For the first time, Kathy's eyes turned to Munch, actually doing a double-take when she realized the person at Elliot's side wasn't who she expected. Her eyes were wary, but a bit softer when she looked back at Elliot. "Did he turn you in? Did Cragen split you guys up because-"

Elliot realized what she thought, how completely she'd bought into her lawyer's own made up bullshit. "Look, Kathy, I'm not getting into this, but I swear to god that I never cheated on you."

She took a moment to size him up before she nodded. "Where's Olivia?"

Munch felt compelled to remind them he was there, trying to avoid watching anymore of the soap play out. "We don't know."

Elliot answered Kathy's obvious confusion. "She disappeared three days ago. I'm hoping your PI has more pictures. If he followed her, he might have caught something on film. He might even remember someone. Please, Kathy, this doesn't have anything to do with me and you." He glanced at Munch, hating to show the man anything so personal, hating that he'd accidentally let another one of his coworkers in on just how bad his divorce had been. "Olivia never did anything to hurt you, Kathy."

"I know that." Kathy looked away, taking a deep breath. "She saved my life and Eli's too." She bent down, picking up a tablet and pen and scrawling a number on it. "I don't know how to reach him, but I'll call Tom and give him permission to talk to you." She handed him the paper with her lawyer's number. "Give me ten minutes to talk to him, then give him a call." She turned to the side, flagging over another nurse. "Can you get an ice pack?" 

When the other nurse returned, Kathy handed it over with the paper she'd written on. "Here. It's starting to bruise."

Elliot accepted the ice, almost having forgotten about Avery's fist, after he'd tucked the phone number carefully in his pocket. "Thanks, Kathy."

Her eyes turned hard again and she shrugged. "I'm doing it for Olivia, for the woman who's had to put up with your shit for ten years, Elliot. I'm certainly not doing it for you." 

He nodded. "Thank you. For everything." He hoped she knew he wasn't talking about the ice. She nodded, but said nothing as she walked away.

In the elevator on the way back down to street level, Munch offered a piece of advice. "You know, Elliot, next time you want to ask Kathy for a favor, you might consider not doing it when you reek of Olivia's perfume."

Elliot turned to look at him, ready to dispute the accusation as always. But then he remembered his shower, soaping up with Olivia's lilac-scented soap, and crawling into her bed for the night. Instead of arguing, Elliot shook his head. "You might have mentioned that before I went in there." Seeing Munch's amusement with the idea he'd sunk to wearing Olivia's perfume, Elliot made an attempt to save face. "Besides, it's not her perfume. It's her soap."

Munch's smile dissolved into actual laughter. "The point is moot, my friend. You still smell like Olivia."

"There are worse things." Elliot grinned as they got back in the car, wondering how many people had picked up on what was apparently so obvious.


	23. T Minus 4 Days, part 3

T Minus 4 Days, cont'd

T Minus 4 Days, cont'd

It actually wound up taking a series of four phone calls to Tom, as well as two to Kathy before Elliot was finally assured that Joe Mackey was on his way to the precinct with the additional photos, including what Mackey claimed were several pictures of Olivia taken, naturally, for investigative purposes only. It was beyond embarrassing to have everyone knowing the true low his marriage had sunk to. Although, he decided in the silent, stunned stare of his boss, Elliot also thought he saw some recognition or understanding regarding why he'd found Olivia's straight-forward, honest-to-a-fault way of dealing with relationships so appealing. Olivia's personality was like a breath of fresh air amid the torture of his divorce. Anyone who tried to divorce Olivia might get the shit kicked out of him, but he wouldn't have to worry about her inventing things to hate him over.

Luckily, Elliot was so hopeful about finding something useful in the PI's pictures that he didn't react too badly to learning that, as much as the man personally despised Avery, the boss was actually able to corroborate Avery's statements regarding touching the dumpsters and provided information that Avery was just in Olivia's neighborhood the afternoon she was abducted. Despite the rational explanation, Elliot decided that Avery could have seen Olivia and planned the attack with the cover his job would provide. He hoped that Mackey's pictures would provide perfect evidence to arrest someone. It would just be exceptionally satisfying if that someone was Mark Avery.

While Elliot was waiting for Mackey to arrive with the pictures, Munch split some more of the fingerprint names with Cragen and continued to work them. Cragen had suggested that Elliot and Munch continue questioning their suspects, but Elliot argued that he didn't want to lose a moment of searching through the pictures, making the unspoken declaration that he was sure Mackey would be providing a huge piece of evidence that would crack the case right open.

Around noon, as Elliot was refusing at least three offers to buy him lunch, the front desk sergeant brought a hand-delivered box to Elliot. The sergeant hadn't seen who dropped it off; it seemed to magically appear on the ledge when his head was turned. It hadn't been mailed, simply left off, addressed to "Detective Benson's partner" in carefully printed letters. Elliot didn't think to call anyone's attention to the package. He hadn't thought to open it. He hadn't thought anything.

Instead a deep, dark, terrible dread filled his empty stomach, leaving him anxious and shaking in its wake.

Had he bothered to look up, he would have realized there wasn't even a need to call anyone's attention. Everyone in the room was staring at him, at the box. And all of them were filled with the same sickening feeling, total apprehension as to the contents.

It was Cragen who finally moved, turning to a random officer in the room to contact the bomb squad. There hadn't been any threats, but there was an angle that Cragen hated to admit he hadn't even considered. They'd been working the case based on the idea that someone was out to get even with Olivia. But with another one of his detectives rendered useless and terrified and damn near broken, staring at a box as though its contents were going to be the death of him, Cragen had to take into account that the kidnapper might have been trying to torture Elliot. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Cragen knew, short of his kids, there was no worse way to strike at Elliot.

The building was evacuated in just under seven minutes, half of the officers opting to head out in the cruisers as opposed to hanging around and awaiting the all-clear. Elliot wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. Suicidal as the idea probably was, he would have preferred to sit there with the box. It had Olivia's name on it, after all, even if it was only by way of identifying him. It was addressed to him as well. It wasn't entirely irrational to hope there was a clue of some sort in or on it. But Cragen had been talking to him, was talking to him, informing him that he was going to request additional detectives to work the case, to more thoroughly investigate, to check into Elliot's past for suspects. Elliot wasn't entirely sure what the man was saying.

Elliot was going crazy, waiting over a half hour for them to clear the package. At Cragen's insistence, Crime Scene was called in to open the box after they'd been assured it wasn't going to blow up. Elliot could only look on as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Cragen, while O'Halloran took a penknife to the heavily taped edges.

His heart was racing, working harder than it ever had on a chase, forcing him to fight to hide that he was hyperventilating again. Clues or not, Elliot knew it was more likely that the box contained something horrible, something devastating, something that would destroy him. Just to assure himself, he unsnapped his holster, promising himself that if it was truly hideous, he wouldn't live long enough to fully comprehend it. If anyone noticed his action, they didn't comment on it. Elliot decided it wasn't lack of concern over him. They were all focused on the box and its possible contents.

As O'Halloran worked the tape loose, various techs were snatching it up, carting if off to investigate. Elliot knew taking such care was important. He'd been on investigations where something as small as specks of dirt held important clues. Still, he was on the edge of his seat to know what had been sent to him.

Nearly an hour after it had been placed on Elliot's desk, the top was opened, the contents displayed. There was a gun, complete with its holster. Quiet whispers began to fill the room, a group of soft voices becoming loud as they blended together into a group. As the pondered what it mean, what inherent threat lay in, Elliot looked at Cragen.

"That's Liv's." He knew it as well as he knew his own. He'd handled it, carried it, used it on one occasion after he'd lost his own gun in a struggle. Like with her badge, he couldn't think about what a fight she would have put up to keep it on her. Of course, he knew that she certainly hadn't had access to it in the days she'd been gone, but still, he would have liked to think maybe the person who'd taken her hadn't known she had it. He wanted to pretend she'd been hiding it, waiting for the right moment to free herself.

O'Halloran lifted it from the box, slid it out of the holster and pulled the clip. He looked up and offered a smile. "No rounds are missing." It could be good news, knowing that she hadn't been shot with her own gun, but Elliot instead chose to ruminate on the fact that she hadn't had the opportunity to shoot her attacker either.

Under the gun, which had already been whisked off to some lab for further study, lay a white envelope. O'Halloran opened it, withdrawing a letter, and handing the envelope off to another tech. He offered Elliot a pair of gloves, catching the older man's confusion. "The box was addressed to you, right?"

Elliot nodded, slipping on the gloves, accepting the proffered letter with a heavy heart. He didn't want to know what it said. He was afraid, not only that it held some terrible details of what Olivia had endured, but also that it might reveal somthing secret, something private, something Olivia would object to anyone knowing, including him. He hated to unfold it, hated to shed light on something that might embarrass her.

And as he prepared to read it, he feared there would be an incriminating detail in its contents, something that would inform the whole room of the tryst that so far, only Huang had been invited to share, and only then out of desperation. Cragen seemed to be the only one who understood Elliot's hesitation, staying far enough away that he couldn't read the words himself. The others, however, crowded in, as curious to know intimate details as they were eager to rescue one of their own.

The letter was short and to the point, typed in larger than average letters. The words weren't particularly frightening, but Elliot found them threatening all the same. It simply read: "Maggie does not need this. I will protect her from you. She is safe now. Leave us alone."

Elliot didn't know what to say. He read the words several times, burning them into his memory. Then he handed the letter to O'Halloran, who'd been standing by, awaiting the top prize for his own inspection. Unsettled and confused, Elliot looked to Cragen for guidance, for support, for something like the reassurance his partner normally would have provided when he was upset.

Cragen searched for words, maybe trying to find something optimistic, maybe trying to soothe his own nerves. "It doesn't sound like she's injured or dead."

The words weren't enough and Elliot shook his head, refusing to let them comfort him. "She no longer needs her gun? She's safe now? That could mean she's buried in a shallow grave in Jersey." He motioned vaguely in the direction O'Halloran had taken the letter. "And who the fuck is Maggie?" He didn't dare mention the other statement, the one that condemned him for hurting her, the one that aired their dirty laundry to the whole group, the one that seemed to know the secret he'd tried to keep. Well aware that the room full of his coworkers was staring at him, waiting for something else, he stormed away.

He didn't want to consider the possibility that it was a case of mistaken identity. Because that would mean all their time had been wasted. Because that would mean they were no closer to finding the man who'd taken her. Because that would mean they had no leads at all. Because that would mean they were at the mercy of someone who'd grabbed the wrong woman. Because that would mean he was completely unable to help Olivia.

Frustrated and angry, Elliot returned to his desk. Everything he'd done so far, every attempt he'd made to find out what had happened to her had been futile. Blind with fury, he cleared his desk with one forceful swing of his arm. He wanted to take comfort in the sound of things falling, crashing, breaking, his computer monitor shattering. He wanted to find peace in the quiet of other dumbfounded detectives.

Instead, he found invasive noise and prying eyes. The accusing stares of people he barely knew got to him. He needed to get away. But rather than running for cover, he had to think first. Because he wanted to be close when Mackey showed up with the pictures. But still he didn't want to hear the rumors, the people discussing the package, the eventual cleaning of the possessions he scattered across the floor, the disappointed sighs of people who might have hoped for better, but expected exactly what they got.

And he couldn't face the crib, the room where he'd connected physically and mentally with Olivia. Even the idea of hiding out in her apartment didn't appeal to him. Rather than being with her ghost, he wanted to be alone. He waited at his empty desk until everyone gave up waiting for an encore and then, when he was relatively sure no one was looking, he slunk off to the back interrogation room. It was almost never used because it was too tiny and claustrophobia-inducing for most of the cops in the precinct. He figured it was a good spot to hide out.

As he passed through the door, his hand automatically reached for the light switch. He thought better of it though, letting his hand fall to his side, leaving the room in darkness. There was some light coming through the window, but the frosted, scratched, stained plexi-glass and the steel bars kept most of the day's sun from bothering him.

He pulled an old, broken metal chair out from under the table and sank into it without even hearing the whine of protest from the worn hinges. His initial fear of the box and its contents had faded into confusion and anger, seeing her gun, the weapon she'd used to protect him, to defend him, so many times, seeing it cast aside, as though that part of her, the part that seemed so very inherent to her existence, meant nothing anymore. He couldn't take it. He couldn't stand to see her end her career. It wasn't just that working Special Victims meant so much to her, although he was sure that his claims to Cragen had been accurate, it wasn't just that leaving the job would mean something devastating had happened to her.

It was that all Elliot knew of Olivia was wrapped up in her identity as a cop, as his partner. If she wasn't a cop any longer, if he couldn't identify with her on that level, he couldn't identify with her at all. He wouldn't have anything in common with her. It wasn't something he could deal with. He couldn't stomach the thought that after so much, there might actually come a day when they parted ways.

He pushed the idea away, telling himself that he needed to look into having someone hold his gun until Olivia was back. It was the only way he could be sure he wouldn't wind up using it on himself.

He wondered if Olivia had ever had the same thought. Not in reference to losing him of course, he'd never be so presumptuous of her feelings for him, but the idea of using her gun to end her suffering. He knew she'd been through plenty in her life, so much that he always wondered how she survived and turned out as selfless as she had whenever he let himself consider it. He wondered if she'd ever had those days, when the idea of getting up and facing the world seemed like too much to handle. He wanted to think it wasn't possible, that even she understood the amazing difference she made in people's lives. He even tried to assure himself that she certainly hadn't because she wasn't the sort to toy with such a decision; if Olivia Benson ever faced the day she didn't want to go on, then surely that would be the last day of her life. But he couldn't convince himself of that. He'd seen her pain, the pain she never, or exceptionally rarely, dared even voice to him, the pain he didn't think the average person could quite fathom the depths of. He'd witnessed so many days over the years when she had locked up so much excruciating, agonizing hurt inside herself that words failed her, leaving her trapped inside herself with the demons, thinking no one could help. And he knew, with the bits and pieces she'd allowed him to glimpse over the years of her life before he'd known her, that she'd likely pondered the idea of suicide countless times then too.

He thought about the fact that he knew, with her mother's abuse, with his own understanding of the fear of physical violence in the one place a child should have felt safe, with an insight he'd never been able to reveal to her, she'd probably come face to face with death more than a few times as a child. He'd been there, he'd had those bruises and broken bones and torn skin and intentional accidents, when one more millimeter, when one more blow, when one more bit of pressure would have ended a life that never seemed worth living in those early years. He wondered if he might actually find the courage to confess it to her.

It actually made him smile, inventing various reactions she might have to hearing him admit to the one thing they shared that no one knew, that probably no one suspected, that even if they suspected, no one would dare voice. Whether she'd be shocked or disbelieving or quietly accepting or maybe flat refuse to listen to it because she wanted to think he was too strong for such a secret. But he suspected she already knew, that the idea had at least occurred to her, the same way he'd always known that her childhood had been horrible, in the short time he'd known her before she'd told him about her conception. He'd known before that confession had eventually included her mother's drinking and verbal abuse. He'd known before that night, the anniversary of some event that she'd never bothered to explain, when she'd called him for a ride, only a short time into their relationship, when her quiet, somber voice had admitted that the unplanned, unwanted, unloved child of the verbally abusive alcoholic had suffered physical punishment for crimes her father had committed. She'd been so damn drunk at the time he had never quite worked out if she even remembered telling him. A decade later and he still didn't know if she was aware he knew – because she referred to her mother's emotional abuse more than once, but had yet to voice the rest to him again.

He decided she deserved to know about his childhood, about the weakness he'd never gotten strong enough to overcome, about the visible scars he'd learned to cover with tattoos so that people would stop asking questions, about the invisible scars he was always trying to hide behind strong muscles and a short temper. It was the only thing left she didn't know, besides the fact that he loved her.

And he had every intention of remedying both of those oversights the first chance he got.


	24. T Minus 4 Days, p4, 3 Days, p1

T Minus 4 Days, cont'd

T Minus 4 Days, cont'd

Although he was hardly ready to face anyone, Elliot eventually pulled himself to his feet and dragged himself back to the bullpen. Fin managed a nod in his direction, but Lake and Munch didn't bother to look up. Recalling the accusatory words from the letter about him not being able to hurt her anymore, he wasn't surprised. Fin knew better, knew that Elliot would sooner die than purposely harm his partner. Lake didn't know him that well. And Munch, well, Munch had already made his feelings clear many times over the years, leading Elliot to suspect the man had long-held hatred of the bullies from high school locker rooms and he assumed Elliot would have been one. Plus, he'd told Elliot what he thought of any possible pain Elliot might inflict on Olivia. As much as it pissed him off that anyone seemed to be taking a crazy kidnapper's word for it, he knew he'd be the first one to threaten any of the other men had the comment been made against them.

It was almost four when a short, muscular guy with a buzz cut peered around the corner. Elliot was staring at the hallway, irrationally expecting Olivia to pop up, claiming that she'd been stuck in the worst traffic jam of all time. Seeing the man's eyes lock on his, Elliot stood up and approached him.

"Can I help you?"

An arm's length away from Elliot, the man still only came mid-way up his chest. He slowly looked up, his eyes widening the slightest bit when he realized Elliot could snap him in two without breaking a sweat. "Detective Elliot Stabler, right?"

It had to be something instinctive, something that spoke to the alpha male's hindbrain, but Elliot never failed to enjoy intimidating people, even when it wasn't necessary. Olivia had mentioned it a few billion times over the years and Elliot always pretended otherwise. But he knew it was true, had known it all along, had realized it was true the day they'd met. Because that had been the first time they'd argued. He'd been trying his best to bully a suspect into confessing, a suspect that Olivia had already agreed was guilty, and he'd been strutting around the man in the little interrogation room, trying to make the man, who'd already admitted he was claustrophobic, a little crazy. The jerk was sweating, wringing his hands and nervously glancing toward the door every few seconds as though it might vanish completely if he didn't look at it often enough. Elliot had gone in for the kill, leaning down to whisper about how dark the cells in prison were, what with how they were ten stories below ground. The guy had whimpered; Elliot had started to laugh.

And then Olivia had stepped in, opening the door and inclining her head toward it. "Detective Stabler, a word please?"

He didn't know a damn thing about her, other than that she was brand-spanking-new and female and pretty and therefore not likely to make it more than two days. His eyes narrowed at her, angry at the interruption even while realizing happily that he'd be able to dress her down and intimidate the crap out of her the moment they stepped outside.

He pulled the door closed behind him, putting his hands on his hips and stepping into her personal space. "That guy was about to break. What the hell were you thinking?" At the sound of his furious voice, he expected to watch her shrink back into the wall, duck her chin, apologize.

Instead, she stepped forward, jutting her chin up to meet his glare defiantly. "He'd confess to murdering Jimmy Hoffa at this point. You're scaring the shit out of him."

Until that moment, he'd never encountered a person who didn't recoil from his charge. Rather than inspiring pride as it eventually would, back then it had only served to drive him crazy. People didn't challenge an angry Stabler; his father had taught him that. People might run in fear or piss their pants, but they didn't challenge. No one purposely tried to piss him off who didn't have a death wish. Incensed at her audacity, he leaned in more and wound up even further off balance when he realized how good she smelled and that she didn't flinch. Not even a little bit.

Yeah, he'd known her three hours and she'd already established dominance.

But he saw no reason to let her know it. "Look, Detective, this is your first day here. Maybe you should stand back and learn how things are done before you start doling out advice."

She folded her arms across her chest, leaving her oversized blazer to hang loosely around her slight shoulders. "It may be my first day with this unit, but it's not my first day as a detective and it's certainly not my first day as a cop. Maybe you should stand back and learn that you can't beat a confession out of everyone."

His eyes were burning, both with hatred for the young, beautiful woman who'd walked into their nightmare of a department and thought she could teach them a thing or two and with an unsettling and fiercely intense desire to kiss the smirk right off her face. He was silent as he stared her down, trying to make her think he wasn't about to budge while he was actually trying to get himself under control. He was almost thirty-five. He was married and had four kids. He was a cop and a marine. He'd seen plenty of women, before and after he was married, that he'd wanted to have sex with. He'd seen plenty of women who pissed him off beyond words.

But he'd never before seen a woman he wanted to throw against the closest wall and fuck. He'd never wanted a woman so badly before. It scared him that she'd gotten under his skin so effortlessly.

When she refused to blink, he had to back down. He had to do something before he lost control completely and tried to fuck her right there with a rapist on the other side of the door.

Shaking his head, he tried to laugh. He wanted to make her think she was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen so she would stop trying. She needed to leave the department before she drove him out of his mind even more. "You want to hold his hand, fine. Go ahead. See how far you get." He stepped to the side, giving her access to the door. "But you might want to make sure he keeps his hands on the table. A sweet little thing like you is exactly his type."

Her hand had already moved to the door knob, but she froze at his words. Slowly turning around to face him, she moved in. She stepped up to him, crowding in until he had to lean back against the wall to stay out of physical contact with her. Then she leaned in a little more, her mouth turning up to nearly graze his ear as she whispered. "You think I'm the sweet little thing assholes like you dream about, huh?"

Trying to pretend her proximity wasn't going to break him, he chuckled. They already hated each other, he wasn't sure how a little honesty would make it worse. "Yeah, I do."

The next thing he felt was the business end of her gun, pressed against his cock. "You don't want to fuck with me, Stabler. I'll hurt you." She winked at him and then turned and stepped into the interrogation room, leaving a dumbfounded senior detective with his mouth hanging open and the first of many painfully intense hard-ons straining against his pants. Of course, three minutes later, she emerged with a signed confession, a smug grin and every last ounce of respect Elliot could muster up.

."Detective Stabler?"

Elliot blinked, the voice dragging him from his reverie, a moment where Olivia had been alive and well and very much in his space. Slowly, he nodded, liking the past so much more than the present. "Yeah, I'm Stabler."

"I know. I'm Joe Mackey. You wanted my pictures." He jerked his thumb toward the elevators behind him. "There's a bunch of boxes. You got somebody to help carry them?"

He stared at the little prick, wanting to beat the shit out of him. This was the asshole who'd followed him, followed Liv, tried to help take his son away, might have seen someone kidnapped and done nothing to stop it. The words slowly clicked in his head. "We only need the pictures of Detective Benson. She's about-"

Mackey grinned, laughing as he cut off Elliot's words. "Yeah, she's the hot bitch you're banging, I know."

And then his hand was around Mackey's throat, shoving him back, pulling his arm back to land his fist in the son of a bitch's face. But someone had a hold of his arm, stopping his jerk forward, pulling him away from the fucker who'd insulted Olivia.

"Elliot, don't, it ain't going to help." Fin stepped between them, shoving Mackey toward the elevators. "Go get the damn pictures, dumb ass, or I won't see anything, got it?"

Mackey backed up, rubbing at his throat as he went. "Somebody better reimburse me for all these copies."

Elliot lunged for him again, nearly getting by Fin who was fully expecting the surge. "You made copies?"

"Elliot, don't. Let the dipshit jerk off with his pictures. What does it matter if we can find Liv?"

His eyes turned to Fin, the closest thing he could call a friend outside of Olivia. "Son of a bitch should have been tailing me, not Olivia. He had no right to take pictures of her."

Fin shrugged. "He had no right to watch either of you, but like I said, if it helps us find Liv, what difference does it make?"

Elliot shrugged. "I still want to kill him."

Fin grinned. "Let's wait until we see what he's got."

Reappearing behind what at first glance looked like two file boxes hovering over a pair of legs, Mackey stopped beside Fin. "Where to?"

Fin motioned toward Elliot's bare desk. "Leave them there. Thanks for your cooperation."

Mackey laughed. "There's more. Someone going to help?"

Fin and Elliot shared a glance. Finally Fin shrugged, following Mackey to his van with Elliot a step behind. When Elliot saw the van, or more specifically, the contents of the van, he was even sorrier that he hadn't gotten to strangle Mackey. He had a gray conversion van, the back of which was completely filled with boxes.

Fin let out a whistle. "All of these are of Olivia?" His nervous glance at Elliot conveyed his first impression – that they had a stalker on their hands.

Mackey shook his head. "It's her, Stabler, them together, Stabler with his kids, everything visible from the street for the last month."

Elliot would have shot him right there, except there were far too many potential witnesses. "You've been stalking both of us for a month?"

"I'm not a stalker. I'm a PI with a license. I work for the law offices of Gordon, Davis, and Charlton and I didn't break any laws." Mackey's speech was delivered in a flat tone, as though he'd repeated it so many times that even he was bored with it.

Fin rolled his eyes. "Ok, so which boxes have the pictures of Olivia?"

"The babe's name is Olivia?"

Fin prevented another public attempt on Mackey's life. "Which boxes or do you want him to kill you?"

Mackey motioned vaguely at the van. "They spend a lot of time together, so she's in a lot."

"You were supposed to sort them out and just bring the ones of Olivia." Elliot couldn't even fathom the amount of time it would take for someone to sort through all the pictures, time that would be wasted while Olivia was suffering. A desire to shove Mackey's face through one of the van's windows rose up.

Mackey laughed. "Are you out of your mind? That would take days! Look, I brought the pictures. Now who's going to pay for these?"

Fin flagged down several officers and brought them over so they could clean out the van in one trip. Then he glared at Mackey. "Deduct it from your taxes."

Mackey stared blankly, assuming Fin was serious. "How do I do that?" Elliot and Fin glanced at each other, shaking their heads as they walked away.

Back upstairs, the boxes that had started out on Elliot's desk spilled over onto Olivia's desk and collected on the floor. Cragen came out of his office, dismayed at the magnitude of work for his staff. "He took all these of Olivia?" The same question that had crossed Fin's and Elliot's minds regarding how much attention the PI had paid to her.

Elliot shook his head. "Mackey's a busy guy, Cap. Didn't have time to sort anything."

Fin nodded. "He's expecting someone to pay for his hard work too."

Cragen's eyes darkened. "Are you kidding me?" He sighed heavily and then cleared his throat to address the whole room. "Anybody who's not having a medical emergency at this particular moment, grab a box and start looking."

T Minus 3 Days

Elliot had been raised by hard-working Irish parents with a stereotypically large number of children. Abuse aside, with the four boys and two girls the elder Stablers had to support, both his father and mother had worked. His mother had mostly worked cleaning houses, occasionally taking on nanny responsibilities as well, anything the under-educated woman could do to help make ends meet. His father had been a Marine and then a police officer who often moonlighted under the table as a security guard when he could. The fact that the man was rarely home was probably the only reason his kids had all survived. But they had taught their kids how to make due with what they had, watering down soup to make enough to feed them, buying bread and meat that went on the discount rack after the expiration date had passed. Even when his father had been injured on duty, questionable as that duty had appeared to the disability review board that took his pension and refused to grant disability benefits, and was suddenly no longer able to bring home a check from the city, he did what he could and drank himself into a stupor on no-name beer rather than splurging for something stronger. They'd managed, somehow, to survive and raise the kids without two cents to rub together.

So during those rare times Elliot happened to catch television and he caught sight of a celebrity who grew violent over having their picture taken, Elliot had never once felt a bit of mercy. They were rich. They barely had to work. They knew their kids would have enough money to do whatever the hell they wanted. All they had to do was put up with people taking their picture, which was a fairly obvious side effect of being rich and famous, which just so happened to be the job that they'd willingly chosen and pursued successfully.

He was beginning to feel sorry for them, however, after having friends, his boss, and half a dozen people he barely knew by sight perusing photographs of his life. The pictures with Olivia were bad enough, but he rationalized it by accepting that they were always working and the other officers had seen him with Olivia countless times. The pictures of him with his kids were different though. Seeing images of his babies, no matter their ages, being scrutinized, being passed around, being left out for anyone to see, bothered him. He felt violated. He felt they were being violated and he couldn't swear he wouldn't shoot the next person he saw with a camera.

But even those pictures with his kids, insulting and invasive as they were, could be explained. The pictures had been taken ostensibly for Kathy's benefit, to ensure the kids were being properly cared for. The pictures of Olivia, though, they were different. Because she wasn't with him. Because she wasn't getting divorced. Because she wasn't being sued for custody. No one had any right to follow her and take pictures of her meeting friends, going on dates, grocery shopping, running, living her life. It was her private life and it was meant to be just that – private. He hated that Mackey had invaded it. He hated that he had to invade it himself, even if it was to find her. He hated that others would randomly pick out a good shot of her, which seemed to be every one since Olivia was apparently one of the most photogenic people he'd ever seen, and make some comment about how hot she was or how sexy her dress was or hot much they wanted to fuck her.

More than once Elliot had sprang from his desk, hell bent on beating the shit out of someone. Fin or Cragen or Munch managed to intercede every time, stealing the stack of pictures away, reminding them they were talking about a fellow officer who deserved respect and would probably kick them in the balls when she found out what they'd said, and she would find out, they were each assured, because Elliot would tell her.

Which only served to change the focus. Rather than hooting and hollering over pictures of Olivia, they started commenting on images of Elliot and Olivia together. Whether it was how close they were sitting or how they were sharing a bottle of water or how they were looking at one another, the comments had only grown more and more inappropriate. After Elliot had made more than one threat on their lives, Cragen tried to send him to the crib for some sleep. Elliot pulled Fin aside instead, convincing him to help him sort the pictures prior to giving them out, allowing the more removed officers access to the ones of Elliot or Elliot and the kids, while only the group that truly knew Olivia got to look at ones of her. Mackey's filing system left a lot to be desired, but at least they had some sort of handle on it.

A few hours after midnight, too many for Elliot's eyes to properly focus on his watch, Lake disappeared. Elliot hadn't paid much attention as he rarely noticed when Lake was around unless he was talking anyway. But a tired stretch of his neck in the direction of Lake's desk revealed that it was devoid of pictures. When anyone else took a break, the stack they were working on was simply abandoned in place, waiting for their return. Lake had taken his with him. And Cragen was missing too.

"Hey, Fin, where's your partner?" Elliot barely glanced up as he continued to flip through pictures of Olivia and Phil having a romantic dinner at a little café. He was glad for the mental distraction because the idea that she'd trusted the asshole who wound up hitting her bugged him.

Fin shrugged before he realized Elliot wasn't looking. "Probably went to take a piss."

Then Elliot looked up, nodding at the clear desk. "And he needed to take pictures of Olivia with him for that?" He didn't even have to make a comment regarding what would happen if Lake had taken the pictures with him to do something else; everyone in the room knew various pieces of Lake's body would never be found.

Fin stood up. "He didn't say he was leaving. I'll go see if I can find him."

"Nah, I'll do it. I need a break myself." Elliot stood up, allowing himself a minute to stretch his legs out after having been sitting for so long.

He headed up to the crib first, forcing himself to ignore his personal reasons for trying to avoid the area. A quick sweep of the room proved it was empty. Checking on the bathroom, the weight room, and the roof, Elliot found the same thing. Some officers littered the rooms he checked, but Lake and Cragen weren't among them. He headed back to the squad room, trying to think. It was possible Lake had gone home. Elliot couldn't even blame him if he had; hell, someone in the unit needed to be conscious enough in the morning to do some work. But Cragen was a different story. Although Elliot was well aware that both he and Olivia tested the older man's patience far too often for their own good, it was clear that Cragen liked them. Simply the number of times they'd been reamed out for offenses that would have ended anyone else's career spoke to that. Cragen liked them, but he had a soft spot for Olivia, and more often than not, a sorry look in her big brown eyes got her out of the reaming that Elliot had to endure.

Knowing that Cragen wasn't going anywhere until his detective was found, Elliot headed back toward the interrogation rooms. He didn't know what he was looking for, but it was the only place he hadn't checked.

And that was where he found them, conferring in one of the rooms with the door closed. They were standing at adjacent sides of the table. Lake held a bunch of photos in his hand, a few more were set on the table, two were in Cragen's hands. Cragen looked upset, almost sick; Lake was gesturing at the picture in Cragen's left hand and then motioning at one in his own hand.

Pissed beyond words, Elliot thought about storming in, demanding to know what was going on that they weren't telling him. But something stopped him, making him reach for the speaker control rather than the doorknob.

"- and here you can see it again. There's something wrong. I don't like what I see."

Cragen shook his head, thrusting the pictures back at Lake. "No, you don't know them. They fight. It's nothing." Elliot's eyes darkened at the words, but he waited, determining that he needed to know if Lake was just a bastard or if both of them were.

Lake quickly sifted through the stack in his hands, dropping several shots onto the table. "Here, what about this? You can see she's afraid of him."

Cragen only glanced at the picture, barely suppressing a laugh. "Olivia is not afraid of him, Chester. She pushes his buttons just to see how riled up she can get him."

"But she'd have no reason to fear for her safety?"

Cragen shook his head. "None at all. That man would die to protect her. Are we done here?"

Lake sounded quite full of himself when he pulled the picture from the bottom of his stack, thrusting it in Cragen's face. "Then explain this to me."

Elliot was seething, convinced he was going to have to murder Lake if for no other reason than the man couldn't leave well enough alone. Lake had gone from thinking they were having an affair to trying to prove that Elliot was abusing Olivia. Elliot waited in the quiet, knowing Cragen would dismiss the claims out of hand and demand that they get back to work.

The quiet lasted longer than it should have. And Cragen's face had paled considerably.

Cragen came barreling through the door before Elliot could think to move. "Stabler!" He stopped short, blinking as he realized the target of his search was standing right there. "Get in here!"

He wanted to smack Lake right across his cocky face. He wanted to grab the captain's shoulders and shake some sense into him. Instead, he unexpectedly found himself shoved toward the table, pushed into a seat as he'd done with a million perverts. He tried to look up at Cragen to inquire what was going on, but his eyes caught on the pictures that covered that side of the table. They were all of him and Olivia and it was clear they were fighting. They were in each other's faces, yelling, red-faced, glowering at one another, storming in different directions, and they were wearing several different clothes, revealing how very common it was for them to have a shouting match on the street or in the car or on the precinct steps. One shot, that featured only Olivia, clearly showed her crying, lying next to a picture stamped from a second before where he was walking away from her.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked. He'd never realized she cried over something he'd said. Cragen had said it himself; they always fought and it didn't mean anything. But staring at her hurt face, he realized it did mean something.

And then there was another picture in front of him, so close he had to back up to see what it was. Cragen's voice was in his ear, asking him just what the hell he'd thought he was doing.

He was staring at a photograph of Olivia, held in place by a grip so tight on her arm the skin had reddened around it. Her face was turned away from his, her eyes downcast, as though she was resigned to the situation, as though she was powerless against him. And there he was, his hostile expression full of hatred, the one hand holding her still, his other hand raised in the air, poised to come down heavily to strike her across the face.


	25. T Minus 3 Days, part 2

T Minus 3 Days, cont'd

T Minus 3 Days, cont'd

It took his breath away. All of it. The pained look on her face. The rage on his. The fact that he'd just been forced into an interrogation room by his boss. The idea that he was there because someone thought he was physically abusive toward Olivia

Most of all, the pure and simple fact that he had no recollection of it.

His mouth fell open as he reached up, taking the picture out of Cragen's hands, lowering it until his forearms rested on the table. He was staring at it, trying to understand. There was nothing else he could do.

"What the hell is this, Elliot?" Cragen's voice was hard and cold.

Elliot raised his eyebrows, looking up at Cragen, shaking his head and shrugging at the same time. He wasn't sure he could speak, even if he came up with anything to say.

Cragen turned away, mumbling quietly to Lake, who left a moment later, closing the door behind him. Taking a seat on the other side of the corner, the captain's eyes fixed on Elliot's downturned face. "You'd better start talking." Still, he didn't get an answer. "Is this your way of asking for a lawyer?"

A moment later, Elliot's head jerked to the side, surprise making him drop the picture out of his grasp as his hand moved up to cover the spot Cragen had just hit. He already had a black eye. A nice bruise on his cheek might help even things out.

Cragen's hands were at his collar, pulling so tight on his shirt that Elliot started to choke. "What the hell is wrong with you? Say something, damn it!"

Dazed, Elliot tried to speak, only to wind up shrugging again.

Cragen shoved him back, taking a moment to gather up the other pictures, hiding the evidence from Elliot's eyes. He slowly neatened the stack, finally taking the one horrific photo and laying it on the table in front of Elliot. "Is there something you want to tell me? Like how long this has been going on? Like how involved the two of you really are? Like where the hell you got the idea you could get away with this?"

Infuriated by Elliot's silence, Cragen was on his feet, moving behind the younger man, pushing his shoulders forward and down until his face was an inch away from the picture. "You'd better start talking, you son of a bitch, or I swear to god I'll shoot you right here." Elliot still didn't say anything, leaving Cragen to grow tired of holding him down. He opened the door, calling out into the bull pen. "Munch, get Huang down here."

Munch's perpetually questioning voice called back. "At this hour?"

"Now!" Cragen's bark was so loud that no one would dare question it.

Fear shot through Elliot, realizing what would happen if Huang was confronted with evidence that Elliot had hit Olivia. Huang might break privilege and turn Elliot in for the assault he'd confessed to, regardless of how it had seemed to be worked out in the end. Maybe he'd been wrong about what had happened in the crib. Maybe she'd kissed him because she was scared that he'd hurt her. Maybe that kiss didn't mean that she was ok with what had happened. He swallowed hard, reaching out to touch the picture to make sure it was real, knowing he'd never get that image out of his head even if it wasn't.

"I didn't hit her." His voice was so soft and quiet that he didn't even recognize it.

"Like fucking hell you didn't. That's a god damn photograph of you doing just that!" Cragen was pacing the room, probably starting to consider how the whole mess would wind up being his fault and ending his career once and for all for the screw-ups that made up his squad.

Elliot threw the picture down, pushing it as far away from him as he could. "I didn't hit her." He stopped to sniffle, only realizing then that he was crying. "I don't remember it."

Cragen's pacing stopped with one foot in the air. He'd heard a lot of excuses through the years, a lot of ways to rationalize breaking one law or another. Most people swore they didn't do it, lying, concocting alibis if they needed to. Some people confessed. Some people played games. Few people tried to pretend they couldn't remember doing it.

Cragen didn't buy it, no matter how convincingly Elliot was playing it. He sat down in his chair, pushing the picture back in front of Elliot because it was so obvious how much Elliot didn't want to look at it. "How many times don't you remember hitting her?"

He looked up, meeting Cragen's eyes with sheer horror on his face. "I don't know." He looked around, desperate for some guidance, something to help him, but he found nothing. "I'd kill myself if I hit her. I know I've grabbed her arm to stop her from walking away from me, but I swear I've never hit her."

Cragen picked up the picture, holding it in Elliot's face again. "You did fucking hit her. Now I want to know how many god damn times you decided it was ok to beat up your partner. Your female partner who is half your size and would fucking kill anyone who dared to look at you the wrong way."

He shook his head, his chin trembling, his voice warping as it twisted around his sob. "I swear I didn't – I couldn't, cap, I couldn't hurt her like that."

Cragen leaned down, fury radiating off his body as he got in Elliot's face. "That woman loves you, you stupid asshole! She really fucking believes you can do no wrong and you hit her! How many times have you done that to her?" His hand reached out, grabbing Elliot's collar to shake him again. "How much worse has it gotten, Elliot? How far have you gone? What else have you done to her?"

Elliot's angry face seemed to be mocking him as it stared back from the photo, proving to him and everyone how much of a two-faced bastard he really was. He shoved his chair back from the table, watching in horror when Cragen did the same, jumping back in fear of a physical assault. His wife had divorced him, his coworkers had turned against him, his boss didn't trust him, his partner was gone, and he'd never be allowed to see his kids again when the lawyers caught wind of the idea that he beat Olivia. He had nothing left. Nothing at all. He backed into the corner, sliding down the wall until he was on the floor, shaking his head at the appalling, dark images inside.

Could he be that guy? The guy that hit someone he cared about? The guy that scared his partner into doing whatever he wanted? The guy that bruised Olivia's soft skin? The guy who'd grown bored with just smacking her around and graduated to raping the woman he loved so much? The guy he'd never thought he could become?

Elliot started to shake at the notion that he'd actually become his father. The abusive, furious man who used his fists to expel his self-hatred and hurt the people who loved him most.

He sat there shaking for a long time, until it felt like forever had come and gone before he thought of it. His salvation. The steel piece of salvation strapped to his belt. He felt the gun at his hip and wondered if he'd have enough time to kill himself before Cragen could wrestle it away from him. Luckily, George Huang had impeccable timing.

Huang's mind reading skills were typically intact as well, his quiet voice cutting through the screaming noise in Elliot's ears. "Elliot, give me your weapon."

He couldn't do it. He couldn't touch it. If he dared reach for it, he'd lose the tenuous control he still had. Looking up at Huang, seeing the way Lake and Cragen were bringing him up to speed, yet somehow unable to hear their voices, Elliot shook his head.

Huang held up his hand, silencing those talking to him, trying to engage the one who wasn't. He stepped forward, squatting down to put himself closer to Elliot's level. "Elliot, I don't think you want to hurt anyone. Do you?"

Unashamed of the tears on his face, he looked up again and shook his head. He could see Munch and Fin crowded into the doorway, trying to figure out what was going on. He turned away, asking himself once again if he had the strength to end it. Sin or not, if he was hurting Olivia and she was unable to stop him, it might be better to kill himself than to let the abuse continue.

"Then why won't you give me your gun, Elliot? If you don't want to hurt someone." Huang's voice continued to be understanding and gentle, but while Elliot wasn't looking, he turned to glare at the others. He would have thought they knew better, he would have thought it standard procedure to disarm someone before they went about destroying his psyche.

Elliot's eyes locked on a spot on the far side of the room, unable to meet anyone's eyes. "I might need it." His honesty caused an exchange of concerned looks among the group, but Elliot remained ignorant of them.

"Why would you need it?"

His head turned back, facing Huang straight on, the pain in his eyes choking everyone in the room. "If I hurt her, if I did that to her-" His voice choked up and he had to take a moment to find his voice again. "I won't let it happen again. I won't hurt her again."

Huang nodded, happy that he was at least getting Elliot to speak, which Cragen had reported he'd had problems with. "That's good, Elliot. You don't want to hurt Olivia. That's a good promise to make." He smiled, his understanding of the situation greater because of the way Elliot had confided in him. "But you don't need a gun to make that promise."

"But I don't remember it." His eyes were wide, fearful of what he was able to do, fearful of the lows he was capable of reaching without even knowing it. "How can I promise not to do it when I don't remember doing it in the first place?"

"Because Olivia trusts you. If you promise her that you won't hurt her, you'll have to keep your word because she'll believe you. You trust her, right?"

The words brought a fresh wave of tears to spill down his face as he shook his head. "She trusts me and I'm a bastard. She shouldn't trust me."

"But you trust her judgment, don't you Elliot?" Huang didn't need to wait for a nod, he knew it was true. "And if she thinks you're worthy of trust, then you must be, right?"

Elliot turned back, finding Huang's eyes once again. "If I hurt her like that, if I hit her, I'll kill myself."

Huang's eyes widened, recognizing that the situation was so very serious that Elliot really was completely sure of his decision. He leaned in, trying to keep his face neutral and not reveal his fear that Elliot wasn't going to be able to pull himself back from the edge. "Do you think that's what Olivia wants?"

"She hasn't turned me in for hitting her. She's not really reliable when it comes to me." There was some part of him that knew what Huang was doing, recognized that his goal was simply to keep everyone in the room alive. But Huang didn't understand that Elliot wouldn't be able to live with himself. He would never understand that Olivia would be better off if Elliot couldn't hurt her. Huang always thought things could be resolved. Elliot wished he could be that naïve.

Realizing that Elliot was determined that his choice was right, Huang changed tactics. "Do you think I deserve to die?"

Confused Elliot glanced at him. "I'm not going to shoot anyone but myself."

"I trust you." Huang saw the flash of surprise he expected on Elliot's face. "But I didn't ask if you were going to hurt me. I asked if you think I deserve to die."

Elliot shook his head. "You only try to help people." Even when they weren't worthy of help, like himself, Huang always tried to help them.

Huang shifted to a sitting position in front of Elliot, moving his legs to get the circulation to return to them. "So you wouldn't want to be responsible for my death, right?"

"No." Elliot closed his eyes, exhaustion creeping up as annoyance. He'd been up too many hours. He'd been under too much stress. He just didn't have the energy for mind games. But on the off chance that it wasn't a game, Elliot couldn't deal with the idea of more guilt.

"And when we find Olivia and she hears that I let you shoot yourself in the head, what exactly do you think she'll do to me?" Huang asked with a smile, knowing he was no match for Olivia in a fight.

But Elliot wasn't in the mood for a joke or for comfort. "Then I guess I'll see you in hell."

There was a commotion coming from the group gathered at the door, which Elliot still only vaguely realized was there. Fin had his partner face-first into the wall with his left arm twisted around behind his back. Lake was cursing up a storm for having been bested. Munch's eyes were darting back and forth between the pair in front of him and the pair on the floor, unsure which was most likely to erupt into something even more explosive than suicide threats and fist fights. Cragen was staring at Fin, appearing too tired to even feel concern.

"What the hell did you do?" Fin was supporting himself on Lake's arm, causing Lake no end of discomfort.

"I didn't do shit." He continued to struggle, but he was pinned.

"Elliot knew you were up to something. He asked where you were." Fin pushed harder, forcing a groan out of Lake's mouth. "I told you to stay out of shit that didn't concern you. And he finds you here convincing the cap he's a fucking wife-beater."

Lake, as usual, missed the point. "I didn't say shit about his wife!"

Enraged, Fin shoved Lake to the side, barely noticing that his partner was on the ground. His temper turned on Cragen. "This isn't right. Elliot wouldn't do that. Look at him! There must be some other explanation."

Cragen didn't know what to do. He had one detective missing, another threatening to kill himself, an FBI agent who suspected there was about to be a price on his head, and two other detectives at each other's throats. The term 'failure to supervise' suddenly seemed terribly obvious relating to his inability to realize how close his team was to breaking down. He shook his head at Fin. "I don't know what to tell you." He pulled the picture from the table, noticing as he did so that his knuckles were bruised. He was ashamed of himself for having decked Elliot, called for or not, he'd always expected more from himself, but he was no better than the rest of them, all wound up too tight after too many years of dealing with horrible crimes. "Here, see for yourself."

Fin looked at the picture with Munch leaning in to see it as well. Munch was suitably horrified, but Fin was clearly refusing to accept it. The wheels were turning, searching for some kind of way to make it ok. He shook his head. "Maybe he was demonstrating something or-"

Munch gestured at the picture, angry at himself for not turning Elliot in when he'd seen them in the crib. He could only imagine what he might have prevented. "If he were demonstrating something, she wouldn't be trying to duck and she sure as hell would be looking at him."

Fin kept shaking his head. "Mackey was taking pictures every few seconds. Where are the rest of the shots? There have to be more."

Munch threw his hands in the air. "What the hell are you thinking defending him? You see it right there. We all know his tantrums. We all know he loses control. How can you really think, with the way Olivia challenges him, that he doesn't go after her?"

Fin looked positively insulted, his hands reaching out to shove the taller man. "You seriously think Olivia's going to put up with that shit for a man? From Elliot? Fuck, you dumbass, she'd shoot him in the balls. She'd shoot you in the balls for suggesting it. She's stronger than that."

Lake had climbed to his feet, watching while Fin and Munch were arguing. When it appeared that Munch wasn't going to fight back, Lake took the opportunity to jump back in. "Why are you protecting him? Maybe Elliot has something on you? You got a dirty little secret he's covering up?"

Fin had barely turned around to face his partner when Lake's arm swung out. He dodged the blow, rearing his arm back to return fire. "You better get the hell away from me, you ass-kissing little piece of shit!"

Cragen reached out, trying to break them apart. His whole precinct was going to be having a brawl by the time dawn rolled around. And at that moment, all he wanted to do was write up his resignation and get the hell out of dodge. "All right, that's it!"

He shoved both Lake and Fin, hoping that the upset to their balance would stop them from hitting each other for the moment. "Lake, go home. Take a few hours off. Just get the hell out of my face. Munch, go home, go to the crib, just go do something besides standing here and declaring you knew it was coming." With two of the pissy men heading out of the room, Cragen turned to Fin. "If there are more pictures, find them. I don't care if they support your theory or crucify Elliot. Just find me some god damn piece of proof of whatever the fuck happened."

Fin stared, his adrenaline pumping too hard for sorting photographs, but he slowly nodded. "Yeah, ok, good idea. I'm on it."

Cragen turned his attention back to Elliot and Huang. Huang had yet to get the gun from Elliot, but it was somewhat consoling to see that the gun was still safely secured at Elliot's hip, rather than in his hand. There was only silence in the room, so Cragen broke it quietly. "George, can I speak with you?"

He nodded, looking at Elliot for a moment. "I'm going to talk to Don. Just don't do anything rash while I'm out, ok?"

Elliot's face, still awash with tears, slowly bobbed up and down as he nodded. The only thing he was holding onto at that moment was that regardless of how awful he might have been to her, Olivia would still be upset if he were dead when she was found. And he didn't want to cause her that pain on top of everything else.

Cragen shifted over to the one-way mirror, keeping an eye on Elliot as Huang closed the door. "I missed the last few minutes. How's it going in there?"

Huang hesitated, taking the time to choose his words carefully. "He's truly distraught over this idea. The idea of hitting Olivia is so abhorrent to him-"

"Do you think he did it?" Cragen wasn't really interested in getting Elliot counseling. He was just trying to figure out if whatever was going on was fixable.

"People are capable of anything, especially when they have decided violent tendencies, but I can't tell for sure. I don't think he's lying when he says he doesn't remember it." Huang's eyes slowly traced over Elliot's slumped form in the corner. "It's possible he lost control and was so upset by what he did that he blocked it out. That could explain why he's breaking down like this. He's being confronted with evidence of something he made himself forget."

Cragen closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Even knowing it was too much to ask for, he'd desperately wanted Huang to assure him that Elliot had absolutely not hit Olivia. "So you think it's possible."

Huang bit his lip, recalling Elliot's confession of loving Olivia, remembering the way he'd thought he'd raped her. He could almost see the relief in Elliot's eyes when he realized that he hadn't hurt her. Taking a breath, he shrugged. "Technically, it's possible that he's a serial killer we've never caught on to." When Cragen's eyes narrowed, Huang smiled. "Anything's possible, Don, but I really don't think he hit her. It's not really a matter of losing control or anger. He'd have to want to hit her, he'd have to want to hurt her. And only then, it would be a matter of him losing control. But I don't see that in him. I don't think he'd ever want to hurt her."

Feeling somewhat comforted, Cragen let out the breath he was holding. "Fin's working on finding more pictures of that argument, hopefully to show us what happened."

Huang nodded. "Ok." He motioned at Elliot, who hadn't moved a muscle. "I'm going to stay in there and talk to him. Let me know if you find something, as soon as possible if it can prove he didn't hit her.

"Will do." He managed a tight smile at the only man he dealt with on a regular basis who seemed able to hold himself together in a crisis. "And then I'm going to insist all of my detectives have round the clock counseling sessions with you."

Huang chuckled. "If I survive facing Elliot in this state, I'm going to cut my losses and retire to the Caribbean."

With a rueful laugh, Cragen headed back to the bullpen to help Fin. "You and me both."


	26. T Minus 3 Days, part 3

T Minus 3 Days, cont'd

T Minus 3 Days, cont'd

At seven minutes after six, Fin, who honestly wasn't sure if he was still awake and working or if he was simply having a nightmare over having spent over twelve hours looking at pictures of his coworkers, picked yet another stack of pictures out of the box in front of him. He'd instructed the second shift of officers helping out to hand over any pictures of Olivia in a red sweater, especially if Elliot was wearing a blue shirt.

Just at the point where he'd decided he was going to tell Elliot, provided Elliot didn't blow his head off in the near future, that he needed to buy some other color shirts, one of the other officers approached.

"Red sweater, blue shirt." The guy was young, new to the job, smiling happily for thinking he'd done something deserving of praise. "There's a bunch here."

Fin snatched them out of his hands so fast, the rookie expected he was about to get a reprimand. Instead, he was dumbfounded when Fin, who looked kind of scary, particularly with the way lack of sleep had turned the whites of his eyes to a hideous shade of pink, wrapped his arms around him and laughed.

"Somebody give this guy a gold shield!" As Cragen had mentioned, it didn't even matter what they found proof of, so long as they could finally answer one fucking question.

The rookie smiled uncomfortably and slunk back to his desk, picking up more pictures, unsure if he wanted to find anymore.

Fin burst through the door to Cragen's office, jarring the man who'd fallen asleep for forty winks. "Cap, I got them!"

Cragen only needed a second to remember why he was passed out at his desk. "What happened?" He held out his hand before waiting for an answer.

Fin blinked for a moment. He'd been so damn happy to find the pictures that he hadn't thought to look at them. "Um-" He sorted through the stack in his hand, trying to arrange them in chronological order. Realizing there were far too many, he set them on the captain's desk and started putting them in order. Trying to cover for his exuberance, he quickly pointed at the first few. "These are before the picture you already saw."

Along with countless others, the series of twenty-some shots showed Elliot and Olivia walking down the street, clearly arguing. They both looked angry, gesturing wildly as they glared at each other, weaving their way through uncomfortable pedestrians. When Fin got to the photos time stamped just before the fateful one that might have ruined everything for a lot of people, his heart started to pound. As much as he desperately wanted to jump ahead, to justify his faith in Elliot's character and Olivia's strength, he dreaded finding something else. And he hated himself for doubting, even that little bit.

Cragen didn't understand the hold up, tired and irritated and desperate for something definitive. He grabbed the stack, quickly dealing out the remaining shots, finding most of them in order. When he was done, he stepped back. The two men stood side by side, absorbing the facts before them.

Turning slowly, Cragen cleared his throat. "Bring Elliot and George in here." Fin was too tired to argue, so he found his way to the interrogation room.

During the previous hours, Huang had eventually talked Elliot into giving up his gun. A few moments after that, though, Elliot had grown despondent, thinking that he'd given up his only chance to set things right. He hadn't spoken in over an hour. He wasn't crying anymore. He was just staring at the far wall, blinking occasionally. Huang had run out of things to say or suggest or ask. He'd done his job is getting the gun from Elliot. He'd done his best to calm Elliot as well. But as much as he desperately needed a break and a cup of coffee, Huang wouldn't dare leave Elliot. He suspected being abandoned was a long-standing fear and, having just lost his partner, Huang didn't think Elliot could handle being left alone.

The creak of the door opening caused both of them to jump. Fin nodded toward Cragen's office. "We have the pictures. Cragen wants both of you in his office."

Huang wanted to ask what they'd found, but he bit it back. Elliot pulled himself off the floor slowly, pretending not to consider grabbing his gun back when Huang saw him looking at it.

The three men paraded into Cragen's office, two of them wanting to see something good, scared there was nothing good to see. Fin stayed back, having already seen everything. Huang stayed by Elliot's side, silently trying to support him through the ordeal.

As they stared at the array, Cragen placed the one they'd already seen into the hole in the middle of the line. Then he stood back and let Elliot see it for himself.

Elliot's eyes moved slowly across them, starting at the beginning, only vaguely recollecting any of the scene he'd experienced first hand. There they were, walking along, fighting, yelling, making faces. He hated his own anger, the way he was disrespecting Olivia. He excused hers, understanding she was putting up with his intolerable self. Then they'd stopped walking, unable to continue walking with all their attention directed to the fight.

His eyes locked on that horrible picture, where his hand was squeezing her arm in such an obviously painful way, his hand up in the air. He tried to take a deep breath, but he couldn't get any air. Closing his eyes, he felt his strength failing. He hadn't eaten all day. He hadn't had anything to drink for hours. He was ready to fall down from exhaustion already. There was no question that he wouldn't be able to keep standing if he had to see the scene unfolding where his hand smashed into Olivia's beautiful face.

But Huang was next to him, supporting him in a way that only Olivia had ever tried. Huang was simply there, having long since given up trying to make him talk. "Look at the rest of them, Elliot."

His eyes darted to Huang for a second, wondering how the man knew him so well that he knew Elliot's eyes hadn't dared pass what he had already seen. He swallowed hard, knowing what he was looking at had the power to end his career, ruin his life, destroy his soul. But no matter how hard his eyes searched the next image, he couldn't see what had been so obvious.

His left hand was still gripping her arm, but where his elbow had been straight, it was then bent at ninety-degrees. His right hand, the one that had been poised to deliver a breathtaking blow to his partner's face, was lowered, pressed against the side of her face, his fingers wrapping around the back of her head. He choked for a moment, realizing the photographer had caught the exact moment of the blow, just when his hand connected with her body. He wanted to be sick, but there was nothing in his system. He dared to move on to the next picture, expecting that his violent grip on her arm would be the only thing holding her upright after she absorbed the force of his hit.

And instead, he saw their bodies pressed together, his left hand hidden behind her, probably still clutching her arm, his right hand cupping her face as he held her against his chest. Only her left arm was visible, her hand resting on his waist. He didn't know what he was looking at. He couldn't remember a damn thing about it.

The next photo showed them both looking back, down at the ground, at bricks that had fallen from the scaffolding above them. Bricks that Olivia never would have seen with the way she was looking down a few seconds before. Bricks that had landed exactly where she had been standing. Bricks that would have hurt her far more than Elliot's sudden, unexpected embrace.

He let his eyes close for just a second before he moved across the rest of the line. Showing how they'd both frozen for a moment to collect themselves after the close call. Showing the way their bodies had immediately relaxed into each other. Showing how they'd completely separated a moment later. Showing her flashing him a stunning, appreciative smile in thanks. Showing how their fight was over that quickly as they walked back to their car.

Elliot nearly collapsed under his own weight, folding into the chair behind him. It took a long time before he found his voice, a voice that he wasn't even sure was his. It was soft and trembling, helpless and hopeful. "I didn't hit her?"

Huang and Fin had wide smiles, feeling vindicated in their support of Elliot. Cragen nodded, his usual, almost fatherly pride in his wayward detective returning in spades. "You didn't just not hit her, Elliot. You were protecting her."

Fin patted Elliot's shoulder. "Like you always do."

"Except when she needed me." As relieved as he was to know that he hadn't hit her, she was still missing. And he desperately wished he remembered the two seconds he'd had her in his arms that day three weeks earlier. "We still need to find the bastard who took her. Did anyone find anything in the pictures?"

Cragen started to laugh, amazed at how Elliot's attention immediately shifted from killing himself to killing whoever had kidnapped Olivia. But having seen how dangerously close Elliot, and everyone else too, was to the edge, he knew he had to put his foot down. "Nothing new. But they've been concentrating on this bullshit for the past few hours. I'll have them keep working today and when Lake and Munch come back in, they'll be on it." Walking around his desk, he started herding people out of his office. "The four of us are all going home to get some sleep." Elliot's mouth opened to protest, but Cragen cut him off. "Sleep. You need it more than the rest of us and I'm dead on my feet."

As Cragen shoved him through the door, Elliot nodded at the stairs. "How about the crib? Can I sleep there? Please?"

Cragen squeezed his eyes shut, watching as Fin snickered on his way out. "Elliot, are you actually begging me to let you sleep in the crib?"

Elliot realized how ridiculous it sounded. Normally, it took a direct order from the man to sleep there; the cots were so damn uncomfortable that it was easier just to sit at their desks half asleep. But he didn't want to waste the time it would take to travel back and forth. They'd wasted hours over what turned out to be nothing. Finally he nodded. "What's it going to hurt?"

Cragen relented, feeling bad for the nasty bruise he'd left on Elliot's cheek. "Fine, just for now and only because I don't want you turning me in for decking you." Without another word, Cragen disappeared down the hallway.

Elliot took two steps toward the crib. And then before he could think better of it, he ducked back into Cragen's office. He didn't care how pathetic he looked, he'd pretty much given up any pride all that night anyway. With a smile, he snagged the shot of their impromptu embrace, the one where they were just standing there, eyes closed, sharing a moment together. He tucked it into his pocket and headed up the stairs for a nap.

Munch returned to the office a few minutes before ten, feeling guilty for his behavior without even have been brought up to speed. He saw the pictures, evidence that his former partner had been right, proof that Elliot really was, as always, trying to protect Olivia. Considering the amount of time he'd wasted in the early morning, while he'd been watching the fireworks unfold around him, the guilt grew heavier. Because of that, he buckled down, digging into the stacks of photos, searching for content besides the main characters. He wanted to find something, a suspect he could present to Elliot, someone who would distract Elliot while he begged for mercy for being a jerk.

He had a good stack going by mid-afternoon, a fuzzy figure in the background of several shots of Olivia from the day before and the day of her abduction. Munch couldn't be sure it was anything, not even that it was the same guy, but he found it curious that the person seemed to be around her not only when she was close to her apartment, but also while she was working, at the precinct, and traveling between home and work, appearing in the background even when Elliot was in the picture as well. It seemed like something and he hoped TARU would be able to bring the man's face into focus.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he stirred it for a moment to give his eyes a break. That was when he noticed a guy in the hallway, standing off to the side, looking slightly overwhelmed. He was just the sort of guy who had no business in a police precinct. Munch walked over to him, seeing the younger man's eyes meet his, a grateful expression on his face.

"Can I help you?"

Several officers were dragging an uncooperative prisoner through the hall, causing the short man to back into the wall. He appeared to Munch to be the sort of man who drove five miles per hour under the speed limit in the center lane of the highway, the unassuming type who would wait patiently for everyone else to go at a four-way stop. Finally, after the cursing suspect was secured out of sight, the man's eyes returned to Munch. "I'm looking for Detective Stabler or Captain Cragen, please."

Munch found something oddly familiar about the man whose unruly curls left him looking slightly deranged. "The captain isn't here and Elliot isn't available. I'm Detective Munch, is there something I can help you with?"

He shrugged, looking truly deflated at the news he wouldn't be talking to either of the other men. "I'm not sure. It's really – um – well, I'm Olivia Benson's brother."

Munch smiled, finally placing the familiarity he'd found in the man. "So you're Simon. Nice to meet you." He thrust out his hand, not surprised that Simon's hand was cold and his grip weak. "I've worked with Liv for a long time."

"I talked to Captain Cragen a few days ago. I was in the city today and I was hoping you might have some news." Simon's eyes continued to dart around the squad, seeming to be waiting for something scary that would cause him to run in fear.

Munch led him toward Olivia's desk, motioning for him to take a seat. "We're still working. Around the clock, actually, which is why the captain's home asleep and Elliot's upstairs asleep. But seeing as you're here, I'll go wake Elliot."

Simon's eyes widened. "Oh, no, that's ok. I don't mean to bother him. It's ok. He can call me later, I mean, only if he has time or you know-"

Laughing at Simon's blatant fear of upsetting Elliot, Munch shook his head. "He'll want to see you. Just wait here. You can have some coffee if you like." Although he pointed out the machine, Munch was sure Simon wasn't going to indulge. A cup of caffeinated city-bought sludge would likely send the poor guy into a fit of paranoid delusions.

He took a deep breath at the door to the crib, hesitant ever since that fateful day he'd walked in without knocking. Even knowing that Elliot was most likely not hiding Olivia in the crib, he was slow to push the door open. Elliot was sound asleep on the lower bunk by the window. At first, it surprised him, as he'd hardly expected Elliot to sleep at all, let alone pass out for a full eight hours. But then he remembered how terribly hysterical Elliot had been, how he'd accused himself of being an abuser all night, how the poor man had been suicidal over it. Munch could hardly blame him for giving in and sleeping, especially with Cragen's probable order for him to do so.

At least he'd gotten a little rest, so Munch felt better about waking him. "Elliot." He waited a bit watching Elliot stir, but not awake. "Elliot!"

"Liv!" Elliot's eyes snapped open as he jerked up to a sitting position, smacking his forehead into the support bar of the top bunk. He looked around, searching the empty space, appearing crestfallen when Olivia wasn't there.

"Better be careful, Elliot, I'm not sure your face is big enough to hold another bruise." Munch did feel bad for him, considering the swelling from Cragen's knuckles had developed into deep coloration just as the black eye from Avery had turned into a spectacular shade of bright purple. Not to mention that the hours of sleep had been disturbed by nightmares which had resulted in Elliot waking up calling for Olivia.

Rubbing at his forehead, Elliot stood up slowly. "What time is it? Have you found something?"

Munch shook his head, motioning vaguely in the direction of the stairs. "Simon stopped by. He's hoping for information. I figured you'd want to talk to him." Glancing at his watch, he smiled. "And it's a quarter after two, sleepyhead."

Elliot was twisting his neck, trying to get the muscles to relax after so long in the uncomfortable bed, until Munch's words sifted through. "Quarter after two? Are you kidding? You let me sleep all day?"

Munch shrugged, pretending he hadn't done just that. "No one knew you were up here for a long time. Cragen's still not here. Fin only popped up a little while ago and said you were probably up here."

Elliot shot past the older man, racing down to the bullpen as though running those few yards would make up for the time he'd been asleep. It was only as he passed Olivia's desk that he remembered Munch's mention of Simon. Seated in Olivia's chair, the young man looked lost.

"Simon." Elliot sat down across from him, resisting the urge to be angry at Simon's location. Olivia would certainly not object to who she insisted on calling her 'baby brother' sitting as her desk. But Elliot personally believed that only Olivia had a right to sit across from him. Even so, he found himself meeting familiar brown eyes. "We don't really have much news. There was a man we were looking at yesterday, but he seems to have a legitimate reason for being in the area."

Simon's shoulders drooped. "I was hoping she'd be here when I came in." He looked around, like he was still hoping it. "Like maybe everyone had been busy or forgot to call me or something."

Trying to ignore the additional guilt settling on his shoulders, Elliot started picking through the photos on his desk. "Olivia wouldn't forget you." Although Elliot had and probably always would forget that Olivia had anyone besides himself, Olivia clung to the idea that she had any blood relatives like it was her lifeline. "And I'll give you a call if we get anything definite."

Simon nodded. "You know, we were supposed to have lunch a couple weeks ago."

Elliot knew nothing about it, but he lied to make Olivia's half-brother feel better. "Yeah, she mentioned that you were getting together."

Simon's face fell further. "I had to cancel because of work. I told her we could reschedule and I just got busy and I didn't call." Looking up and seeking forgiveness from her partner, Simon issued his plea. "Tell her I didn't mean to blow her off. I just forgot. I swear, it won't happen again. You have to tell her that, she'll listen to you."

The fact was, Olivia hadn't mentioned it, probably because it wasn't that big of a deal. She rarely had time to get away from the office to sleep, let alone have a leisurely lunch. But Elliot nodded, deciding it would win him brownie points with Olivia if he was nice to Simon. "I'll tell her. I'm sure she'll want to reschedule as soon as we find her."

Nodding and climbing to his feet, Simon started toward the door. "Thanks for talking to me. I just – good luck, I guess? I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say." He looked up at Elliot with moist eyes. "I didn't realize how much she meant, you know? I mean, we barely know each other, but now that there's a chance-"

Elliot patted him on the shoulder, cutting him off before he could voice something that Elliot couldn't stand to hear. "We'll find her. And one of us will give you a call as soon as we do. She'll be fine, Simon."

"Thanks again."

Elliot glared at Simon's back, resenting him for having doubts, ignoring the fact that he'd had the same fears himself. Then he turned toward Munch and Fin. "Ok, where are we?"


	27. T Minus 3 Days, part 4

T Minus 3 Days, cont'd

T Minus 3 Days, cont'd

Munch stood up, showing him the photos he'd pulled aside, explaining his reasoning that the guy, if it was the same guy, seemed to have popped up suddenly and had quite a lot in common with Olivia to be around her nearly as often in those two days as Elliot himself was. Elliot stared at the image, trying desperately to recognize what was too blurry to see. As Munch headed off to get TARU's help, Fin hung up the call that had come in just when Elliot had asked his question.

Fin looked up, delivering news that could easily go either way. "O'Halloran found a hair, root intact, on the tape. And there's a partial print on the edge of the envelope."

Elliot couldn't believe the break. Evidence. They actually had real, solid evidence. "Are they running the print against the ones on the dumpster?"

"Apparently it's a very partial print and could easily match hundreds of thousands of people, so it probably won't even do us any good with a suspect." Fin held up his hand before Elliot could argue. "I told him to compare it to Avery anyway."

Shaking his head, Elliot tried to stay calm. It was something. It would help. Sort of. If they had someone in custody. It could be used to rule people out, at least. "What about the hair?"

"DNA says it's female."

Elliot's brain couldn't comprehend it. There was no way Olivia had been bested in a fight by a woman. Not unless it was some kind of female body builder or something.

Fin continued, seeing Elliot's confusion. "They want a piece of Olivia's hair to compare it to. They're thinking maybe it's hers."

It was a considerable let down. Proving that Olivia was nearby when someone had stolen her gun wouldn't do a damn thing. "Olivia's DNA should be somewhere in the system. She used it to find Simon."

Nodding, Fin realized Elliot had completely misunderstood what the crime techs were suggesting. Not that he could blame him, since he'd missed it too. "They're going to check the partial against Olivia's prints."

Elliot looked even more confused. "They think someone made her send her gun in?" He shook his head, continuing to miss the point. "She knows my name. Why would send it to 'Detective Benson's partner?'"

Looking down, Fin issued the last part of the request. "They also want access to her home printer."

It was then that Elliot caught on, his head turning as his eyes narrowed. "What the fuck are you saying, Fin?"

"I'm not saying anything." He shook his head. "Besides the fact that O'Halloran and his buddies are a bunch of motherfuckers."

"They're not seriously suggesting that Olivia faked her own disappearance."

"Apparently that was their brilliant conclusion after finding the hair." Fin shook his head. "Guess that's why they're lab techs and not detectives, huh? Hey, where are you going?"

Elliot was halfway across the bullpen. "Olivia has a brush in her locker. They want to rule her out as suspect, fine. They need to hurry up and move on." Pure anger fueled him as he took the stairs two at a time, slammed through the door to the crib, and dialed her code into the lock. But as soon as he was facing her open locker, he froze. He'd been in it plenty of times for various reasons. He could even recall one time, about a month into their partnership, when he'd broken into it, convinced that he lack of need for sleep could only be drug-induced. Of course he'd found nothing damning and then had to buy her a new lock, only realizing as he handed it to her that doing so had given away that he'd been the one to bust the old lock in the first place.

But whatever his reasons had been in the past, he felt it was different. Olivia wasn't half-asleep in the car, waiting for him to grab her keys. Olivia wasn't in the emergency room, having begged him to get her an unstained shirt. Olivia wasn't celebrating a birthday, desperately needing the goofy gag gift she'd find just before she went home for the night. Olivia wasn't off working a case for the feds, unaware that her partner simply needed to touch something that belonged to her to convince himself she would come home. No, for all the reasons he'd been in there, he'd never been looking for a way to clear her name, to redeem her. Even when she'd been in Oregon, he'd never felt so cut off from her.

He picked up her brush, telling himself it wasn't pathetic to run his fingers over the disconnected pieces of her hair and wish they were attached. With a sigh, he pushed the whole thing into an evidence bag and tucked it into his pocket. He couldn't bring himself to walk away, not even having already achieved any legitimate goal. He reached into the darkness, his fingers brushing across her sweatshirt. Behind that, he found an old sweater. It was one she'd worn a lot several years earlier, but had eventually cast aside when a few holes appeared. She'd loved it so much, though, that she hadn't been able to throw it away, instead leaving it in her locker for one of those days when she needed a change of clothes. His fingers curled around the soft fabric, certain its baby soft feel had been the reason she loved it. He pulled it out, holding it to his face, inhaling deeply, taking in as much of her lingering scent as he could. He put it back quickly, afraid that, like her jacket, his cologne would quickly overpower her soft scent. He needed to know it was there, just in case he needed another fix of it.

His hand moved over the random collection of things on the shelf – some hand lotion, a single gold earring, a pair of gloves, a few envelopes. Curious, he pulled them out, recognizing the return addresses on all but one as having been victims she'd helped over the years. The last one, though, had no address. He checked over his shoulder before he carefully pulled the card free from the envelope. It was a Christmas card, featuring a teddy bear hugging a snowman on the cover, a cute, silly kid's card. He flipped the cover open, feeling his heart stop at the messy printing on the inside: Mery Crissmis Love Lizzie S. He had to smile at the innocence of the message from his youngest daughter and at the knowledge that Olivia had kept the card for so long. Lizzie's spelling had come a long way in ten years, as had the animosity that had grown in his kids who sometimes still thought Olivia had something to do with their parents divorce. But knowing Olivia the way he did, he realized she'd probably kept the card simply because it was the first one she'd received in a long time. He set it back on the shelf, closed her locker, and headed back downstairs.

He handed the bag with the hairbrush to a uniformed officer and sent him to go see O'Halloran. If he had to face the guy himself, he might wring his neck. He had no intention of retrieving Olivia's printer. He figured the hair would be enough to keep them busy for a while, especially when they checked and found that her prints didn't match the one on the envelope.

The thought of looking through more pictures made Elliot sick, so he turned to the fingerprint list. The techs had finished processing almost all the prints they'd found, but only about half the names had been searched in the system. He wasn't a big fan of what he normally would have considered busy work, although he knew a print on the dumpster where Olivia had been attacked might wind up being the best lead they had found yet.

About a half hour into searching, he'd crossed a few names off the list. His phone rang, distracting him with a name half entered in his computer. He made a mark below it to remember his place while he picked up the phone.

"Yeah, Stabler."

"Hi, Elliot, are you busy?" Munch's voice sounded playful.

Which was no less than incredibly unwelcome to Elliot's ears. "What the fuck do you want, John?"

"I was just wondering if you have a few minutes to join me."

Rolling his eyes, and then realizing unexpectedly that Olivia wasn't watching him and therefore wouldn't be amused, he took a moment to clear his head. "Seriously, what do you want?"

"Well, I'm down in TARU with those pictures I mentioned." He paused, lending a somewhat dramatic feel to his statement. "And there's something I find rather curious here."

Every muscle in Elliot's body tensed as he spoke. "What? What did you find? Is there something there?"

"Why don't you come down and have a look?"

Without bothering to say a word, either to Munch on the phone or Fin who was staring at him, Elliot tore out of the room. He was completely out of breath when he shoved through the door, not bothering to explain his zeal to the questioning eyes of others. He spotted Munch in the far corner and Elliot weaved through the maze of desks and equipment.

"What did you find?"

A tech he'd never seen smiled at him, taking the time to look him over. "Hi, I'm Melanie."

Munch's head was ducked down, borrowing Fin's pastime of staring at his shoes. Except he wasn't quite as skilled and Elliot could hear the hint of a snicker.

Normally, even if Olivia were there, Elliot would have smiled back, made small talk, possibly even attempted to flirt if he thought it might merit him a favor at a later date. The energy to do so was lacking, so instead he ignored it. "What did you find?"

Munch jumped back in as soon as he realized he wasn't going to have to put up with Elliot two-timing Olivia, even if it was only by flirting. "Melanie is excellent with computers. She's practically a magician." He picked up one of the pictures, showing Elliot the blurry shape in the background. "Observe, if you will, this indiscernible figure." He handed it to a laughing Melanie who placed it on her scanner and began clicking a series of keys.

They watched as the outline became bigger and bigger, each progressive enlargement making the shape more and more distorted. And then Melanie looked up at them, her hand poised over the mouse. "And voila!"

And suddenly, Elliot was staring at a life-sized image of Howie Druskin's face.

As soon as he managed to draw in a breath, his rage was boiling over. "Son of a bitch!"

Munch grinned. "I thought you might appreciate Melanie's fine technical display." Elliot was already walking away, ready to beat the shit out of Howie. "There's more."

With no further need for an impressive display, Melanie's flourish disappeared entirely. She pointed out one screen after another, always the original photo and then the zoom. It was always Howie. He was watching her, staying back where she might not notice him. But then Melanie brought up photographs of her and Elliot together. Elliot's presence, it seemed, wiped the dopey, attentive, eager look off Howie's face and replaced it with one of intense anger and hatred and loathing.

Munch looked at Elliot and shrugged. "It would appear that Howie doesn't approve of your relationship with Olivia."

Shocked that Munch would make such a public mention of what he'd agreed, for the meantime, to keep quiet, Elliot's mouth fell open. He didn't even notice the way Melanie looked up, quickly understanding what Elliot was upset about.

Realizing what Munch thought, he tried to point out what he'd meant, not caring that he didn't fool anyone. "I guess Howie wants to be Olivia's partner."

Elliot was pissed that Munch had said something stupid, yet again, that caused him embarrassment, yet again. He practically growled back. "I'm Olivia's partner." Stating the obvious was something he'd learned to do in fights with Olivia, when she frustrated him past the point of making any reliably intelligent arguments.

Melanie, who was well aware she was being ignored for the moment, couldn't keep out of it. "Lucky Olivia."

Elliot was too distracted by the whole situation to even realize that her comment was meant as a compliment. He pointed at the screen. "This guy Howie? Asshole kidnapped her four days ago and we can't find her. Doesn't seem so lucky now, does she?"

Melanie turned away, deciding it was pointless to argue with the man who had made it painfully obvious that he was not simply Olivia's partner. Munch tapped her on the shoulder. "We're going to need copies of these enlargements, please."

While they were waiting for the prints, Elliot called Cragen, informing him of their discovery. Elliot knew, had it been one day earlier, that Cragen would have read him the riot act over having missed something when he'd talked to Howie twice. He felt like reading it to himself. Olivia herself had mentioned not liking Howie. Munch hadn't liked him either. And Elliot, the biggest asshole of them all, hadn't seen anything harmful in the man at all.

But it wasn't really that his perceptions had been so inaccurate.

It wasn't even that he'd been so wrong.

It was that they might have gotten to Olivia two days sooner. If only he'd listened to her.

Elliot took the wheel, paying very little attention to his own physical safety as he took them to the library, weaving carelessly in and out of early rush hour traffic. No matter the speed, it took too long, and by the time he pulled up to the door, he'd had it. Recklessly parking the car half on the curb and half blocking another car, he darted toward the library door.

"Hold up, Elliot!" Munch gave chase, feeling very little besides imminent threats to his life merited running.

Elliot's eyes were furious as he spun on Munch. "What? You want me to be nice to him? He's got Liv! Who knows what he's done to her? We don't even know where she is!"

"Exactly." He held the door shut, insisting that Elliot listen. "He has her. We need him to tell us where she is."

"Oh, I'll get it out of him."

Munch had no doubt that Elliot was serious. "You can't kill him, Elliot. I'm not losing my pension because you have to beat someone to death while Olivia's not here to cover it up for you." He smiled. "I understand the urge. I was ready to go after you last night myself. But look, we don't have a warrant yet, so we need to get him down to the precinct without letting him know what we know."

Elliot swallowed hard, wishing he felt less determined to kill Howie. "Yeah, ok." He didn't really care what Munch was saying. He just wanted to get his hands on the fucker that had Olivia.

"No hitting." Munch's tone took on the edge it had when he was talking to kids and, unfortunately, got much the same result in an eye roll and a turned glance. "Once we get him back to the station, then you can scare him all you like, ok? Once it's Cragen's problem and not mine."

Elliot shook his head. "I cannot make any promises regarding what I'll do when I get my hands on the bastard that kidnapped Olivia."

"How the hell does Olivia put up with you?" Sighing, Munch opened the door.

With a grin, Elliot surged ahead of Munch. "Because I'm a good kisser." Without waiting for Munch's requisite horrified expression, Elliot waved at Angela as he passed through the metal detector.

They found Howie at the same table he'd been at when they'd talked to him two days earlier. Elliot was shaking with the urge to attack and he wisely held himself back, letting Munch take the lead. Munch settled down beside him, leaving Elliot to stand directly behind him. Elliot would be ready if Howie tried to run.

Mustering up the friendliest smile he could, Munch observed Howie's blank face. "Hey, Howie's, what's going on?"

Howie shrugged. "Nothing really."

"Looks like you're not reading as much today." Munch was referring to the presence of a single magazine where Howie had previously kept a stack. "All caught up?"

Howie nodded. "Yeah, sort of. I'm almost ready to go home."

Elliot couldn't resist, knowing Howie hadn't spotted him yet, knowing Howie didn't like him. He bent down, letting his face crowd in right next to Howie's ear as he spoke in a hiss. "And just where is home exactly?" Because if Howie was dumb enough to answer, Elliot had every intention of abandoning Munch and going after Olivia.

Howie jumped at Elliot's voice, nearly falling off his chair in an attempt to get away. "I didn't see you there."

Elliot smiled, well aware that his hard, cold stare conveyed his feelings adequately.

Howie's eyes widened and he turned back to Munch. "I'd love to help you guys out, but I really have to be getting home."

Elliot leaned in again. "Someone there waiting on you?"

Munch kicked Elliot in the shin behind Howie's chair so he wouldn't see the dispute between the partners. "Detective Stabler just likes to hear about kids. He loves kids." Munch knew his bullshit wouldn't fool anyone, except that Howie had seemed kind of stupid and always usually went out of his way to placate them, probably thinking it would throw them off his scent.

Shaking his head, Howie frowned at Elliot. "I – uh – no, no kids. I don't have much family."

"That's too bad, Howie." Munch put his hand on the back of Howie's chair, trying to keep him distracted by Elliot's intimidating glare. "You know, you were really helpful when we talked to you before." He waited for Howie to offer a tight, fake smile. "And Olivia told me how helpful you were when she talked to you." He saw Howie's smile become real, a deep, red blush coloring his cheeks. "Since you're ready to go home, can we offer you a ride?"

Howie bit his lip as he glanced at his hands. "Um, it's really ok. I like to walk."

Elliot was back in Howie's ear. "You live close by? How close?"

Munch kicked Elliot again. "He's fascinated by real estate too. He's got a lot of interests."

Howie smiled again. "I have a lot of interests too."

Nodding, Munch continued prodding Howie. "You guys probably have a lot in common, I bet." He decided he might as well go for it. "He thinks Olivia is pretty. What about you?"

Another, deeper blush covered Howie's face. "Yeah, she was very pretty."

"Was? What do you mean was?" Munch wasn't sure he was breathing. He knew his heart had stopped the moment Howie used the past tense to describe Olivia's beauty. When he finally dared look at Elliot, he saw the other man's face had paled, his jaw was hanging slack, his whole body shaking with unexpressed rage.

And then Elliot was spurred into action, no longer capable of playing nice. "We're giving you a ride, Howie. Get up." He grabbed Howie by the arm, physically pulling him to his feet.

Munch jumped up to assist as soon as he realized that for all his slumping and unassuming posture, Howie was taller than both of them and probably weighed twice what Munch did. Both Munch and Elliot realized simultaneously that Howie could put up a hell of a struggle if he wanted.

Munch tried to backpedal, smiling sickly at the bastard. "Really, you've been such a great help."

Howie, for all his size, didn't even seem to realize it. He was nervous, glancing between Elliot and Munch repeatedly. "I only saw her one time, you know. That's all I meant." He walked along with them even as he tried to talk his way out of it. "Really, I have to be getting home. I –uh- there's something – I need-"

Elliot's grip tightened as he yanked Howie into the stairwell. "You said you didn't have any kids. So who do you have to worry about? Huh? Somebody's waiting for you?"

Howie tried to shrug, except that the detectives had hold of his arms. "I –uh- well, I guess a ride would be nice if it's not out of your way."

The car, of course, headed for the precinct; Elliot's fierce driving shortening the ride considerable. Howie issued several protests, mentioning repeatedly that his place was in the other direction, but neither Munch nor Elliot responded. Elliot dragged Howie up the stairs, ignoring Howie's argument and Munch's request that they not injure Howie just yet.

Elliot practically threw Howie into the interrogation room. He didn't even wait for Munch to follow or for Cragen's direction. He knew how to work the room, knew how to get his way. He narrowed his eyes at Howie's surprised face. "Where the hell is she?"

Howie shook his head. "Who?"

Elliot squeezed his eyes closed and promised himself, and Olivia, that he wouldn't kill the man who held her. If only because they didn't know where he hid her. He glared at Howie again. "Olivia. Where the hell is Olivia?"

Howie's eyes moved around the room, appearing to search his memory for an answer. "I-uh- I don't know anyone named Olivia."

For just a moment, Elliot's eyes widened at Howie's audacity. The calm was short-lived, however, as Elliot lunged at Howie.


	28. T Minus 2 Days, part 1

T Minus 2 Days

T Minus 2 Days

Elliot was steaming. Pissed as fucking hell.

Fucking son of a bitch Cragen. Fucking son of a bitch Munch.

Fuck them. And fuck Fin and Lake too.

Fuck every single other one of the officers that had come in to "help" get Elliot away from Howie. Fuck anyone who didn't think it was perfectly appropriate for Elliot to squeeze Howie's fucking throat until he spilled Olivia's location.

Who fucking cared that Howie would be dead long before he admitted he knew anyone named Olivia? It wasn't like anyone would miss the bastard.

Of course, that was the argument that had resulted in the fuckers locking Elliot in the little interrogation room just over six hours earlier. For about the hundred-millionth time in those six hours, Elliot bristled at the decision of his boss, when the older man declared Elliot was unable to control himself.

Fuck that. It wasn't a matter of control. He could control himself if he wanted. The issue was that he really did want to kill Howie. He figured they could find where he'd stashed her somehow after Howie was dead.

Elliot was sitting on the floor, having discovered it was far more comfortable than the old metal chair. He leaned his head back against the cinder block walls, trying to keep his mind occupied. Normally a little after midnight Elliot would be tired and ready to sleep, but he'd slept through most of the day and his brain refused to quiet down.

His mind finally found something, a memory that tugged at the corners of his mouth until he started to smile. He'd almost forgotten, but suddenly, it was there, as sharp as if it had just happened. Pieces of it remained hazy, like just what it was they had done and what case it had involved, but a few years earlier, Elliot and Olivia had ignored Cragen's order to do something or to not to something else, but their behavior had resulted in them being banished from the precinct. Naturally, whenever they had an open case, neither of them wanted to go home until it was solved. Until the rapist was in jail, they wouldn't be able to get any rest anyway.

For some reason, despite having had their careers threatened, they hadn't wanted to leave. At first, they'd tried to hide out in the crib, but Cragen had caught them, telling them in no uncertain terms that they were not to dare set foot in the crib. And in a single glance between them, they both knew exactly what they were going to pull – as Olivia begged mercy, trying to concoct some ridiculous reason as to what they were doing, Elliot grabbed their coats and his keys to make the story believable. As soon as Cragen had turned his back, they'd ducked into the back interrogation room, joking about how much trouble they were going to get into if they were caught. Olivia said she hadn't had so much fun since she was a kid, trying to sneak a cigarette in the school bathroom. Elliot agreed, informing her that his attempt to hide on campus had involved a cute little redhead and a very short skirt.

So they'd hung out in the darkness, almost certain they wouldn't be discovered but leaving the lights out anyway, sitting together in the corner, trading tales of broken rules and the love of the adrenaline rush that had pulled them both into police work. They'd been paged after a few hours, long after the conversation had run dry. The beepers woke Elliot first, giving him a moment to try to understand how he'd wound up asleep on the floor with Olivia snuggled into his side, their jackets thrown over them for warmth. It had come back to him just as Olivia's beeper woke her. He'd watched her reflection in the mirror, the early morning sun lighting up the room just enough, seeing the confusion and uncertainty and hesitation when she first opened her eyes. He saw the moment of surprise when she realized it was him.

And then he'd seen the precious little smile that graced her lips as she let her face turn back toward his shoulder. She mumbled something about telling them to fuck off and he'd been tempted. Except he'd been too surprised to see how she'd willingly, consciously curled into him. To spare her the embarrassment of calling her on her consciousness, he'd tucked his face against her hair, squeezing her shoulder, letting her hair tickle his cheek as he softly said her name. He let her take her time, pretended to believe she was really sleepy, and reveled in the short time he could hold her in his arms.

Elliot was still sitting there, in the same place as he'd been those years earlier, with a stupid grin on his face, when Cragen opened the door.

He tried to size Elliot up, but clearly the grin threw him off. "Do you think you can resist the urge to kill Howie?"

The smile disappeared, the warm feeling fleeing from the icy cold that shot through him. He scrambled to his feet. "Did he give you anything?"

Cragen shook his head. "Nothing. Not even his name."

"It's Howie Druskin." Elliot couldn't believe they'd let him sit there all that time without even asking.

"Yeah, that's what he told us." He shrugged. "But there's no one in the state by that name. Even the FBI computer didn't bring up a hit either."

As they made their way back to the bullpen, Elliot realized that as quiet as everyone else kept their feelings, they were all still there, waiting for news, trying to help. Elliot turned to Cragen. "What about his prints?"

Cragen glared at him, giving Elliot the distinct impression that he should know better. "We can't compel him, Elliot. He's not under arrest."

Elliot's eyes went wide. "Are you kidding me? Why not? We know he has her!"

"I'm waiting for Casey to weigh in. She's been tied up all night."

Her timing couldn't have been worse, as Casey happened to stride into the room at that moment. Elliot's anger immediately found a new target, focusing on Casey. "Where the hell have you been?"

Casey's normally pleasant smile was missing, replaced by a look of complete exhaustion. "Contrary to popular belief, Elliot, I don't stand around waiting for you to bellow my name. I have other things to do sometimes."

Elliot narrowed his eyes, quite happy that she'd walked right into his trap. "And exactly what have you been doing that's more important that Olivia's life?"

Casey's anger faltered as she glanced to Cragen for verification. "Did you find something?"

"Just the prick who took her." Elliot felt no mercy and he didn't like that fact that Cragen seemed less upset than Elliot personally felt he should have.

Ignoring Elliot, Cragen put his hand on Casey's back to lead her toward the interrogation room. "We're pretty damn sure this is the guy. Tell me we have enough to arrest him." His eyes darted back to Elliot cautiously. "Please, before we have to commit him."

"What do you have?" Her eyes locked on Howie's bored face, a cold gleam darkening her stare.

Cragen produced the enlargements from TARU. "We've got Howie here stalking Olivia."

Casey looked at the photos. "Did Olivia file a complaint?"

"She told me he creeped her out." Elliot knew they were trying to keep him out of the conversation and he wasn't about to take it, not after he'd been locked in a damn room for six hours when he could have been beating the fucking information out of the shitbag.

Casey glanced at Cragen. "We can't have a stalking without a complaining witness."

Elliot stepped in, forcing Casey to pull back from his looming bulk. "We don't have a complaining witness because we have a god damn stalker. What is wrong with you?"

Cragen already looked whipped, but he kept trying. "Howie was questioned by Olivia and Elliot the day before she disappeared. Howie displayed an inappropriate level of interest in Olivia as well as an antagonistic response to Elliot, apparently because he believed Elliot was responsible for the bruise on Olivia's face."

Casey was nodding. "Ok, so that's when he started following her?"

"Yeah, these photos are stamped from that afternoon." Cragen stuffed the pictures back in the file and dropped it on the table. "Now prior to acquiring these pictures, Elliot and John questioned Howie. Howie brought up Olivia and again voiced his hostility toward Elliot."

Casey fought back a grin. "It's hard to imagine anyone not getting along with him."

Cragen allowed himself a tiny smile. "Elliot received a letter yesterday, indicating that Olivia was being protected from him. Her gun was in the package."

The blonde's face seemed to light up in a rather inappropriate manner. "Prints? Hair? Note signed with his name?"

Cragen shook his head. "The hair lifted was female, wound up being a match to Olivia's. There's a partial print that is not hers, but it's not enough of one to match to anything."

Casey's eyes slipped closed, her head shifting slowly from side to side. "Is that it?"

Elliot sighed, feeling completely deflated. He knew Casey was probably speaking from some objective place that Elliot couldn't remember ever being near. He didn't need to hear the rest; he already had his answer. No one was going to help Olivia.

"Well, once the photos were enhanced, John and Elliot went back to talk to Howie. They got him in here and after all his worrying about Olivia, he suddenly claimed he didn't know who she was." Cragen's voice was almost a plea, as though his tone would make the information more useful.

"There's no judge in his right mind who will issue a warrant with those pictures. This is Manhattan. It's entirely possible that Howie frequents those locations and any public defender will be all too happy to expound on that point." Casey looked disappointed and Elliot couldn't blame her. The idea that she might get them a warrant was their best hope. "And with Howie saying he doesn't even remember her, well, that's not exactly a confession."

Elliot cracked the knuckles of his right hand and bared his teeth. "You need a confession. I'll get you a confession."

"Oh, jeez, I didn't hear that." Casey turned her eyes back to Cragen. "Get me something I can use. A pattern. Another stalking victim. Something."

Cragen started to laugh, as much from exhaustion as from Casey's comment. "The name he gave is false. We can't get anything useful out of him."

Elliot was glaring through the glass, his gaze damn near melting the mirror. "He's not as stupid as everyone thinks. He's playing with us. It's a game. He has her and we know it and he knows we know it and we can't fucking get him."

Casey bit her lip, finally offering a shrug. "How long do you have left before you have to turn him loose? Don't you people have sneaky ways of getting prints? I'm sure I've gotten my ass in a sling for some of your more inventive practices in the past."

"Munch, go get Howie a soda. Maybe he'll leave his prints behind." He turned back to Casey. "They brought him in around six, so we've got a while yet. I'll call you as soon as you get something."

Elliot was quiet for a long time, not responding, not even seeming to hear Casey bidding him good luck. Cragen's words were stuck in his head, rolling around, eventually driving home the idea that it would be a long eighteen hours before Howie would be a free man, even if he managed to hold out.

He shoved open the door, ignoring Cragen's angry complaint. "Howie!"

Howie'd been staring at the window, in a half-asleep stupor, but he jerked upright at the sound of Elliot's voice. "Don't hurt me!"

Elliot grabbed Howie's collar, shaking him fiercely. "How long were you at the library today?"

Howie clawed at Elliot's hands, but eventually seemed to understand that Elliot wasn't letting him go without getting an answer. "I go to the library everyday."

Elliot shook him again, knowing it would only be a matter of seconds before someone would be there, pulling him off. "What time? What time were you at the library this morning?"

Howie smiled as Fin and Cragen started pulling at Elliot. "I haven't been to the library at all today."

"The hell you haven't! I pulled your ass out of there myself. Don't play with me!" His grip was about to relax, not until he had his answer.

"That was yesterday." Howie smiled again. "It's after midnight."

Growling, Elliot's grasp grew tighter. "What time you little bastard? Tell me what time you went to the damn library or I'll tear you apart!"

He eventually realized that Cragen and Fin were no match for Elliot's anger. His smile disappeared. "Eight. I'm always there when they open at eight every morning."

"Have you been home at all since then?"

Howie shook his head, his fear of Elliot twisting into pride. "I stay at the library all day."

Just as suddenly as he'd attacked, Elliot's hands released. He took a step back, shaking off Cragen and Fin. Slowly he turned to his boss. "Let him go."

Frowning, Cragen looked at Fin. Elliot's mood swing was unexpected at best and Fin's face revealed the same level of confusion. "Howie's going to remain our guest for quite some time."

Elliot met the older man's eyes slowly, letting his anguish speak for itself. "She's been alone all this time, Don. He left her alone sixteen hours ago."

"Shit." Fin turned from his previously docile self and kicked the chair Howie was sitting on. "Does she have access to food or water?" Kicking the chair again, he stepped forward and watched as Howie's eyes went wide. "Huh? Does she? Don't make me mess you up, jackass!"

Knowing Elliot was right, knowing Howie wasn't as dumb as he appeared, knowing they weren't going to get a damn thing out of him, Cragen grabbed the back of Howie's collar and pulled him to his feet before Fin had a chance to charge. "Get the hell out of here." He shoved Howie toward the hall, turning to Elliot and Fin as soon as Howie had stepped far enough away. "You stay on his ass. Find out where the hell he goes."

Elliot wasn't sure what he was hearing, if it was permission he didn't even need. "Cap?"

Cragen glanced between Fin and Elliot, taking a deep breath and letting out a heavy sigh. "He so much as jay-walks, you pick his ass up."

Fin nodded as Elliot started after Howie, keeping the man in his sights. "And if he gets home legally?"

"Then make sure there's nothing suspicious about his place. And feel free to check out any public areas nearby."

"I heard that." And then he chased after Elliot, not wanting to leave Elliot alone anywhere near Howie for long.


	29. T Minus 2 Days, part 2

_Fun part in here for y'all, dedicated to my beloved fluffernutter just for sending me Season 6. You so rock._

T Minus 2 Days, cont'd

Howie was one slick motherfucker.

At least, that was Fin's declaration.

Elliot was busy having a stroke.

At least, he was pretty sure he was. They'd lost him. Granted Howie had led them on one hell of a roundabout chase, up one random street, halfway down the next, disappearing through an alley, only to cut back across to the same street he'd been on in the first place and wind up going back the way he'd come. Fin and Elliot had been well aware that Howie was trying to lose them and they'd tried their best to keep up.

Unfortunately, Howie lucked out. His side-winding route took him past a club that was getting busted right then for serving minors and the chaos of two-hundred underage kids spilling into the street, all of whom were looking for a way home that didn't involve a police cruiser and a call to their parents, gave Howie the perfect cover. And if that wasn't enough, there was the requisite delay when uniforms stopped Fin, thinking he was part of the club's staff, delaying him needlessly after he produced his badge.

Frustrated and furious, Elliot slammed his hands into the bricks of the closest building. "God damn it!"

Fin didn't speak. He felt like an ass. In his book, he was an even bigger ass than Elliot. Because Elliot was emotionally involved and unstable as all hell and no one was actually counting on him to do anything. In fact, Cragen's words after they'd locked him in the interrogation room had simply been to let the man be. All they were trying to do was to keep Elliot was killing someone until they could find Olivia. Fin expected more of himself. He should have been able to keep his eyes on one retarded asshole for Olivia's sake.

Elliot looked like he was about to cry and that was something that Fin just wouldn't be able to take. He wasn't capable of consoling his bawling male coworker. He needed to find Olivia before Elliot made a complete ass out of himself.

Fin started walking. "Let's go back. We'll sit on the library tomorrow morning. He goes there everyday, right?"

"He won't go back there." Elliot desperately wanted to hit something, but his hand fucking hurt from bashing it into the bricks. It was just another stupid reason for him to miss his partner. Because Olivia wouldn't let him hurt himself. Because Olivia would convince him that bad coffee and a stale pastry from a diner in the middle of the night would make it better. Because Olivia would anticipate the crash and be standing in front of the wall when he went to hit it anyway.

"Come on, he said he goes there everyday at eight. He'll be there in a few hours."

Elliot was shaking his head as he fell in step beside Fin. "He knows we're looking at him. He'll expect us to be waiting. He won't go back there. Maybe not ever."

Fin laughed. "Don't give the guy that much credit. He's a retard. They have their patterns and they don't ever change them."

"You better watch out or you'll get your ass in sensitivity training for a few weeks."

"Oh, yeah? You going to turn me in?"

Elliot didn't bother reassuring him. "Howie's not retarded anyway. He just acts that way."

"What good would that do? It's not like we didn't catch him."

Elliot shook his head. "We didn't catch him, Fin. We know it's him and we can't touch him. How often does that happen?"

"I still say we hit up the library. Munch said he had all kinds of books and shit. Maybe we can find his prints there."

Feeling a bit better, Elliot smiled. "And once we have his name, we'll be able to find him." Elliot felt a bit better as he nodded off to the right. "I'm going to head home. You want to fill Cragen in or do you want me to do it?"

Fin shook his head and took out his phone. "I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, man. I'm doing this because Cragen rips one more hole in you and Olivia won't recognize you and then she'll get on me about it."

With a final smile in Fin's direction, Elliot turned off. He tried to keep telling himself that Fin was onto something, that they'd be able to get Howie's prints off one of his billions of books, that they'd be able to nail his ass to the wall. Instead he kept thinking that Olivia was still there, that Howie was probably home with her, that Howie might be punishing her for their incompetence, that Howie might be telling her how stupid her partner was that he couldn't even be led to her. He didn't know how he'd ever find the courage to face her if she knew.

It was a few minutes after three when he let himself into her apartment, into the place he'd been calling home, into the place that comforted him and torn him apart simultaneously. Knowing he'd only brought one change of clothes the one night he'd had enough forethought to bring any, he stripped out of the suit he'd been in for two days and threw it in her washer. Whether or not she hated him for hanging out in her place, he was sure she wouldn't care about him using her washer, not as long as it kept him from smelling like shit when he found her. And he figured she'd notice that he smelled like shit because as soon as he found her, and he'd never stop looking until he did, he was going to hold her and never, ever let go.

He fell into her unmade bed, remembering the ridiculous logic that had convinced him to leave her bed unmade. With a grin, he stripped off his boxers and tossed them in the washer as well. Because, in his book, finding him sleeping in her bed in buck naked was even more likely to result in Olivia coming home. And somehow, it made him feel closer to her, as though he was there, drifting to sleep after having made love to her.

He wasn't sure what time it was or how much time had passed. He only knew that he'd been rolling from his side to his back to his other side to his stomach so many times that Olivia's bed was a mess. The comforter was on the floor, the sheet was untucked, the pillows were stuffed between the mattress and the headboard, even the fitted sheet was pulled up and wrinkled under his frame. No matter how he'd redecorated the room, he was no closer to getting any rest.

He flipped over one more time, his eyes coming to rest on the doorway, a grin slowly making its way across his face. "Hey."

"Hey, you." She smiled, her eyes drifting over the mess he'd made of her bed. "Can't sleep?"

He shook his head, but his eyes remained locked on her shapely frame, barely covered by her thin yellow robe. "Too busy thinking about you."

One eyebrow rose, the corners of her mouth quirking up at the same time. "Oh, yeah?" She crossed one leg in front of the other, allowing her long leg to peak through the folded fabric. "What about me?"

His grin widened, knowing, for once, her leg was on display for him and him alone. He took the time to take in every inch of her perfect body with his eyes. "I'm thinking you're all the way over there."

She threw her head back and laughed, a light, soft sound he'd never heard before. He wanted to make her do it again. "What else are you thinking?"

Sitting up, he crooked his finger, calling her over to him as her sheet pooled in his lap. "I'm thinking you should come over here."

She glanced at his hand, still raised in the air, then at his bare chest, where her eyes lingered for a bit, and then finally back at his face. Cocking her head to the side, she put her hand on her hip which in turn let the neck of her robe fall open almost to the waist while still keeping her covered. "Now why would I want to do that?"

Between her sultry voice and the amount of skin she was willingly showing him, the sheet that covered him had started to levitate several inches above his lap. He looked down, almost embarrassed at his eager response to her presence, and grinned. "Because I have something for you."

Her eyebrows rose as she stepped forward, working loose the knot at her waist. "Oh, you have something for me, huh?"

Swallowing hard, his eyes followed her hands. With each step she took toward him, her hands shifted the robe, starting at her shoulders and slowly working it down. Just as she reached the bed, the robe dropped from her fingertips. Her eyes met his, her face somber as she grasped the sheet and threw it away from his body.

"Well, if it isn't my Elliot in his birthday suit." And then her grin reappeared. "You weren't kidding about having something for me, were you?"

He reached for her hand, pulling her body onto the bed next to him. "Would I kid you about something like that?"

"God, I hope not." She slid forward, placing her hands on his chest as she moved to straddle his legs. His hips bucked up against her, seeking the moist warmth between her legs. "Although, I seem to remember you enjoying it too."

His hands moved to her waist, one pushing her hips down while the other pulled her shoulders forward. "Good thing you're in your birthday suit too, then, huh?"

She did it again, threw her head back and laughed with abandon, so happily that he had to join her. When she finally returned her attentions to him, she wiggled closer, lifting herself up so his erection just brushed her folds. "It certainly makes it easier."

Before she could take control, his arms reached up, his fingers burrowing into her hair, his hands guiding her face to his. He spoke when their faces were close enough that his lips brushed hers as they moved. "I love you, Olivia."

She smiled, the shine in her eyes revealing that she loved hearing it at much as he loved saying it. "I love you too." And then she let him kiss her. Let him, of course, because her body was still drawn tight, just barely hovering over him, knowing that the slightest move would render him completely at her mercy.

She drew back, her tongue jutting out to collect the moisture that had collected on her lips from his kiss. The sight alone was nearly his undoing and he groaned and whimpered and squirmed under her.

With a wide smile and a wicked gleam in her eyes, she laughed at his impatient response. "So can I have my present now?"

He nodded and leaned up to kiss her again, his tongue delving into her mouth as her body settled onto his. He was in heaven. Absolute heaven. The velvety soft feeling of her body surrounding his, her delicate, petal soft skin touching his, her sweet mouth open to his. He let her take command, knowing it was important to her sometimes, knowing he could trust her with his body, knowing nothing she ever wanted to do would be unacceptable. His hands roamed her body freely, albeit sloppily because as desperate as he was to give her pleasure, the feeling of her tight body squeezing his as she rode him mercilessly drove him almost to a point where he had no conscious control at all. When he could think straight, he touched her breasts, suckling one nipple and then the other, loving the moans his action drew from her. He cupped her ass, her slender, muscular ass, trying to help her with the work of the unbelievable rhythm she kept. And then when he knew he was losing it quickly, when he couldn't quite keep his hips from pumping up in a counter-rhythm, he reached between them, his fingers flicking against her core, watching her head fall back in utter bliss from his touch, even as her momentum increased, her steady, constant rhythm failing in favor of hard, fast, uncontrolled thrusts.

He felt the blissful moment when her body tightened and froze, her head thrown back, her mouth open, his name escaping from her lips. She fell forward, collapsing into his arms, relaxing against him until her mind rejoined her body and she started to move again, to tighten her relaxed body around him, to lure him over the edge with her.

His own body started to tense, his muscles lifting half of him off the bed as he tried to push himself deeper than physically possible into her. He kept his eyes open as long as he could until the white hot fire shot out in every direction from the point where their bodies were joined.

For a long moment, he just tried to keep breathing, thinking that he wouldn't mind dying, not if that was the way he was going to go. He reached out, feeling for her body in the space beside him, realizing that he had actually lost consciousness since the last thing he'd remembered was her on top of him. He wanted to curl his spent body around hers and tell her the effect she had on him.

But his hand, his arm, found only cold, empty space.

His breath hitched in his throat as he opened his eyes, knowing she wasn't there, seeing his right hand still wrapped firmly around his flaccid dick, feeling the stickiness on her sheets.

Fuck. He was a fucking asshole. He'd sworn he wouldn't do it and then he'd gone and done it. Unconsciously, of course, but he still fucking hated himself. Not to mention that if there was a chance of her coming home to find him naked in her bed, it would, in fact, be very, very bad for her to come home and find him having just jerked off in her bed.

As he climbed to his feet, yanking the sheets off the bed and dragging them to the washing machine, he decided it would be worth explaining why he was stark naked in her hallway, with her stinky sheets in his hands, trying to wash away the evidence of what he'd done. Because she'd be there, demanding an explanation and if she were there and demanding an explanation, then she would be safe and healthy and home.

Instead, Elliot didn't have to explain shit to anybody as he transferred his clothes to the dryer and threw her sheets in to wash. He padded undisturbed to the bathroom and started the shower without having to answer a single question as to what he was doing.

Standing under the freezing spray, trying to keep himself from thinking about Olivia coming home to find him in her shower, Elliot let his head fall heavily against the tiles. He hated himself for giving into the urge, the urge he'd given into a thousand times before, either alone or willfully picturing Olivia's face instead of his wife's, while Olivia was trapped with Howie. He'd found such pleasure, such contentedness, such comfort in the idea of being with her, asleep or dreaming or halfway in between, while Olivia was at the mercy of the freak who'd taken her.

Howie might well have found the same pleasure in Olivia's body that night, he could have found it a hundred times in the five days she'd been his prisoner, he could have hurt her, raped her, molested her, tortured her innumerable times. He could have killed her for all Elliot knew. His precious Olivia, the reason he'd only recently understood was why he'd continued to live for so many years, could be lying debased and mutilated and degraded and dead somewhere while he was busy making nice with his right hand.

And for the second time in five days, he sunk to his knees in the shower, his pain and horror and helplessness escaping in a low, keening moan as he sobbed into his hands.

If he didn't find her soon, he knew he wouldn't find her at all. Another couple of days and he'd be a permanent resident at Bellevue where his biggest worry would be fighting for control of the slobbery purple crayon during art therapy and that would only be when they jacked him up on enough meds to get out of bed in the first place.

Elliot was pretty sure, given the various behaviors they'd seen from him in the previous five days, that no one at the 16 ought to be surprised to see him walk through the doors with a shrunken suit, a wrinkled shirt, and red eyes. Yeah, he looked like shit and he knew it. But his better half, an indisputable fact given the shambles his life had fallen into since she'd been gone, was missing and honestly, she was the one he was usually trying to impress when he came to work looking damn good anyway.

He didn't really care who was whispering or what they were whispering as he leaned on the frame of Cragen's door. He knew he should sit down and ask what, if anything, anyone had found while he'd been out, but with his lack of sleep and his breakdown in the shower Elliot was fairly certain that he was going to pass out the minute his ass hit the chair. And while his coworkers would probably be thankful for a respite from the fear that he was about to go ballistic on them, he didn't want Olivia to ever hear that he'd been asleep at his desk while she was being abused.

Cragen nodded at him, the same greeting he always gave except that it was lacking the usual smile. "I sent Munch and Lake down to Howie's library to pick up any books Munch or anyone else could remember seeing Howie with for prints. O'Halloran was sending someone down to print the desks too."

Elliot nodded, wondering if Cragen could read between the wrinkles of exhaustion on his face. He needed to be directed, succinctly and pointedly, as to what he should do. He would have even been happen for someone to write out directions or draw him a damn diagram. He was too tired to think, too tired to come up with anything on his own. He just wanted to find Olivia, but given his mental state, he was completely unable to think of anyway to go about such a task.

Cragen nodded slowly, as though Elliot's silence revealed more than any words would have. "You could head down there, give them a hand. Munch wasn't there the first time you talked to Howie."

Elliot thought about it, knew it was probably the best idea. It would give him something to do if nothing else and keeping himself busy until he could put his hands on Olivia and pull her close was the only hope he had for sanity. But his body didn't move. Instead his eyes found the kind, understanding warmth of the man he'd called his boss for the vast majority of his career.

"Something you want to talk about?" He wasn't being rude; he simply didn't mince words. Elliot couldn't blame him. The crime rate hadn't dropped in five days, and with one of his detectives missing and the rest of his squad looking for her, Cragen was probably catching holy hell from the brass.

Elliot nodded, not even quite comprehending the question or his own answer. His eyes darted down to his feet and for a moment he was distracted by the idea that he needed to get a new pair of shoes. It was the sort of thing he'd always relied on Kathy to tell him. He usually relied on Kathy to mention it a hundred times, then to go out, buy him a new pair and put them in the closet after she threw the old ones out. He wondered how long it would take Olivia to realize she was the woman in his life and therefore needed to tell him those sorts of things, and to remind him to take his suits to the cleaners instead of ruining them on his own. He imagined hell would freeze over before she got around to it because she'd expect that by his age he'd be able to figure that sort of stuff out for himself.

Then he looked up, wondering why he never wanted to talk when Olivia was practically begging him to, yet he couldn't seem to keep his damn feelings to himself when she wasn't around. "That was the day after Phil hit her."

Cragen nodded, waiting for Elliot to explain himself.

"Olivia's cheek was all swollen and bruised." He shook his head, remembering how awful he felt that night, when he'd been an asshole about driving up to get her after she'd been abandoned. She'd been so enthralled with watching Eli that she'd forgotten to hide the mark from him. He'd realized his mistake and had offered what she'd accept – a bag of her own frozen peas and a smart remark about the guys she dated. Shaking his head at himself, he realized he could count himself in with the rest of the assholes who didn't deserve her, except he really did love her, so much that he apparently couldn't survive without knowing she was ok. He looked up to find that Cragen was still waiting, expecting he had something to say. But he didn't, not really. He was just a hair short of stark raving mad.

He shrugged, vaguely remembering that he had kind of had a point. "I saw it and I gave her some ice and made some stupid crack about her taste in men."

Cragen offered a half smile. "Well, her history is rather depressing, at least, what I know of it."

"You know, the asshole left her in New Haven after he hit her."

"After she broke his nose, I believe."

Elliot nodded, knowing that Olivia's self-defense had been instinctive rather than thought out. Had she stopped to consider what she was doing, she probably wouldn't have hit him knowing he was her ride home. She'd opted to follow her partner's pattern, reacting without thinking. "So she called me in the middle of the night and asked me to pick her up." He squeezed his eyes closed, remembering what a shit he'd been. "I fucking snapped at her for waking the baby." Taking a step forward, he fell into a chair, barely keeping his head up. "Her fucking boyfriend hits her and leaves her an hour from home and she called her partner, the guy who's supposed to have her back and I fucking yelled at her."

"Everyone's pissy in the middle of the night, Elliot, especially when there's a screaming baby involved." Cragen's half smile returned. "In fact, I seem to remember a few years ago, you'd picked up a call with Munch and wound up in the hospital with a broken ankle. I called Olivia around four in the morning to tell her and I used your phone to do it." He stopped talking as the smile lit up his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. "She ripped me a new one, not knowing who was on the other end of the phone, assuming it was you." He shook his head, still grinning. "She lit into me for about twenty minutes before she stopped take a breath. And you know, as soon as she heard my voice, she knew you were hurt and she was terrified, damn near flipped out again on me."

"But you know we went in to question Howie about a rape that hadn't even happened and he takes one look at her and one look at me and tells her she shouldn't put up with that shit from me." He looked up to meet Cragen's eyes. "Son of a bitch is a psycho and even he knows I'm no fucking good for her."

Cragen looked utterly baffled for a moment before he shook his head. "Wow, Elliot, you're – I mean – if you had actually hit her and Howie wasn't a cop-napping psycho, I might agree with you, but since that's not that case, I'm going to have to tell you that you need to get some sleep or counseling. Possibly both."

Elliot shook his head. "He might have been wrong about me hitting her, but he was right about me in general. She deserves better than me." It was a crushing thought to voice, but he knew it was true.

Cragen stood up, coming around to the front of his desk and taking a seat in the chair next to Elliot. "I don't have any kids, Elliot, so I like to dole out fatherly advice at random to people who don't have any choice but to listen to me." He waited for a smile, even a nod, of recognition, but it wasn't forthcoming. "The fact that you think she deserves better than you, that you think so damn much of her, tells me that you really love her." He sat back, knowing the detective wasn't about to deny it, but giving him a chance to all the same. "And if you really love her, to the extent you've made clear to all of us here, then there is no better man for her."

"No, no, you don't understand." Elliot kept shaking his head, well aware, yet unable to explain why Cragen was so wrong. "I don't treat her right. I'm not good enough for her. I'm not good enough to her."

Cragen smiled. "You can spend the rest of your life trying to be the man she deserves, Elliot. But you shouldn't make her wait that long, cause I think she'll take you as you are."

"But I shouldn't take advantage of her like that. Maybe she's willing to settle, but I shouldn't let her."

"Somehow I doubt she'd think she was settling. In fact, I think she'd beat the shit out of anyone who suggested such a thing, even if you were the one to suggest it." Cragen saw the hopeful, pathetic, questioning stare in Elliot's eyes and nodded. "Like I said before, she loves you. She'll happily spend the rest of her life as your partner, hoping you'll feel the same way eventually, but I think it would probably do you both a lot of good just to suck it up and admit you're head over heels for each other."

He wanted to believe, so much, that Cragen's opinion was right. "What if you're wrong?"

Cragen smiled. "I'm not." He angled his head toward the door. "Now go find her."

Still tired, but filled with hope, Elliot pulled himself to his feet and headed for the library. He'd make them print every damn book there until they found something, anything. Olivia deserved that much from him.


	30. T Minus 2 Days, part 3

T Minus 2 Days, cont'd

T Minus 2 Days, cont'd

In his time with the unit, Munch generally came down on the logical, if paranoid, side of things. He was also more often that not the mediator when someone like Elliot or Fin was ready to take someone apart. But in Elliot's absence that morning, Munch had gone a bit crazy at the library, accosting staff and patrons alike, demanding to know if any of them could identify books Howie had been interested in. He had a group of college students lined up, wide-eyed and terrified, as he ranted about how the government would watch them and never leave them alone unless they helped the investigation. Lake was doing his best to soothe anyone whose attention he could steal away from Munch's tirade.

By the time Elliot had arrived, the students were pretty well rendered mute and Lake's attempt to comfort them was falling on deaf ears. With Lake and Munch preoccupied, Elliot snuck past them and grabbed Angela Andrews. He'd tried being a jerk with her and hadn't gotten far. Instead, he opted for nice, smiling and telling her repeatedly how much help she'd been. Although it hurt like hell for him to fake a good, happy mood, he comforted himself by remembering that any price was worth finding Olivia. Luckily Angela was charmed enough by his smile that she forgot his previously foul attitude. She started rattling off specific names of things Howie was interested in and, even though they seemed to encompass every scientific topic ever researched, Elliot wrote them all down.

He was just heading up to the second floor, ready with his list to search the stacks for anything that met the requirements Angela had given him. And then he realized that finding prints on the books in the library of a college would be about as helpful as the ones of the dumpster. "Uh, Angela?"

She twirled a piece of her graying hair in her fingers and smiled. "Yes?"

Elliot suddenly realized she had mistaken his attempt to placate her as flirting and that she fully expected an invitation of some sort. The knowledge made him blush and stutter in confusion, which only served to convince her further. Finally he found words. "Do you have a list of students and employees with library cards? We'll need to rule out people with a legitimate purpose."

Batting her eyelashes, she giggled, a sound that grated on Elliot's nerves. "I can give you a list of everyone on file, but it'll be really long." She smiled again. "How about if I email it to you?"

Against his better judgment, Elliot took out a business card and scrawled his email on the back of it. The last thing he wanted was to ever hear from the woman again, especially not with Olivia's apparent jealous bent. But as the thought came to him, he had to smile. He wouldn't mind having a paranoid, jealous Olivia reading his email. Of course, Angela assumed the smile was meant for her.

Elliot ignored her and headed for the stairs, only catching part of Munch's tirade about black helicopters. And in that instant, he once again realized how far away Olivia was, because she would have shared a good, hearty laugh with him over Munch's paranoia and then said something to him about some imaginary unmarked car that wasn't really waiting outside for him, which would set Munch in a tizzy for hours until he discovered that she'd made the whole thing up.

For the first time in his visits there, the second floor periodicals weren't crawling with students. Apparently Munch and Lake had swept them all down to the first floor. Elliot had to smile at their usefulness, as it left the second floor, with the desks and books of Howie's, free for the police to search. O'Halloran was against the far wall. Elliot could see him talking to a couple of people. Still irritated about the other man's insinuation that Olivia had faked her disappearance, Elliot concentrated on the stacks, grabbing anything that looked right with his gloved hands.

Half the row later, Elliot began to realize that the number of surfaces and items they would need to print was simply outside the realm of possibility. He was holding a pile over a foot high and there were about twenty rows left. He set the pile on the floor and decided he'd just have to talk to O'Halloran. Waiting for them to print all the books and magazines in the library would take them most of their natural lives.

"Elliot!"

His first instinct at O'Halloran's voice was to remind him they were in a library and advise him to keep his voice down, until he remembered that he really didn't give a shit. "Hey." He looked around, noticing the entire last two rows of tables and chairs were crawling with techs, lifting probably hundreds of thousands of prints. "Find anything?"

O'Halloran nodded at the desk behind him. "Munch said this was the table you found Druskin at twice, so I concentrated on this one, all the prints lifted from right here are being flagged high priority." He motioned around. "But I figured we should probably check the rest too, right?"

Elliot sighed, wondering if anyone had finished checking the records of the prints they'd gotten from the dumpster. For a moment, Elliot wished Olivia had a car she could have been abducted from. At least that would help limit the search area. "Yeah, great."

"Munch said you might know some of the books Druskin was reading." O'Halloran had his little fingerprint kit at the ready, reminding Elliot of some little boy wanting to play detective.

Rather than scoffing at the man's eagerness, Elliot shrugged. "The guy's a science nut. He likes everything to do with science."

One of the ever-helpful techs joined in uninvited. "This is the science library. Everything here is about science."

O'Halloran nodded. "And I don't think anyone has ever cleaned anything." He indicated the back of the chair between them, covered with so many prints that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began.

Elliot snarled at the simple reminder that while Howie's prints were undoubtedly somewhere in the building there were a million other people's prints there too. "We're never going to find him."

Munch's thin frame sidled up to Elliot. "Oh, but we will, my friend."

With a glare and a step away, Elliot rolled his eyes. "Now who's taking the happy pills? The only thing you've ever been hopeful about in your entire life is the idea that you'll eventually die."

"That's very true." He motioned around. "Although who wouldn't welcome death with the thought of otherwise having to catalog and fingerprint an entire college library?" With vaguely reassuring shrugs from both Elliot and O'Halloran, Munch smiled. "Besides, I think we have a good place to start."

"What, Munch?" Elliot wasn't in the mood to play.

With a twisted grin and abundant flourish, Munch produced the Encyclopedia of Female Reproductive Anatomy from behind his back. "We might get something if we cross reference prints from this table with this jerk off for nerds manual."

Elliot flinched, finding Munch's words exceedingly cruel, knowing Munch hardly had any idea of how painful his choice of words would be to Elliot's ears. Munch was just that way, his cynicism having an uncanny way of hitting the nail on the head often enough to make a person wonder if he didn't spend his free time reading a crystal ball. Munch was being Munch; an idea that reminded him of a conversation he'd had with Olivia, apologizing for ever having been such an asshole that she might think he'd discuss her desire to have a baby with Munch. He must have really hurt her, more than once, for her to have even considered such a thing. He shook his head, adding item number 4029 that he needed to apologize to Olivia for when he found her.

Munch and O'Halloran were discussing something, but Elliot had tuned out. His lack of sleep, the way he'd mixed up night and day, the fact that he pretty much hadn't eaten since Olivia disappeared, it all seemed to work together in that moment, allowing him to relive that second meeting with Howie almost as though it were on a video screen in front of his face. He grabbed the book from Munch's hand, flipping madly through the pages, finally finding the one he was looking for. He motioned at the bottom right hand corner of the open book.

"His hand was here. Right here." He thrust the book at O'Halloran. "Run this one first."

Munch looked at Elliot, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read him. Finally, he shook his head. "You're not right, Stabler. You're just not right."

Inspired, Elliot went back to the rows of journals, searching his memory for anything familiar about them. He couldn't swear by any of it since he was well aware he could have as easily had a complete breakdown as actually remembered any of them, but he returned to O'Halloran's side with a thick, yet manageable stack of magazines. "Check these too."

O'Halloran nodded. "After the eye candy for geeks page 496, right?"

Elliot nodded. "Right."

By noon, the detectives, even Munch who'd eventually managed to find a few like-minded individuals who were teetering on the edge of paranoia that were enthralled with Munch's stories and encouraged him to explain them at length, were back at the house. The crime techs had called so many times, reporting the names every ten matches they had at O'Halloran's insistence, that eventually Lake had plugged a headset into his phone and kept the line open. As he got names, he would run them through the system or call them out to someone else if he was busy.

At Cragen's urging, Elliot had returned to the remaining boxes of photos from the Mackey, continuing to search for a needle in a haystack. Munch was working on the rest of the names from the dumpster. Cragen and Fin, along with a few detectives borrowed from other departments, were working other cases, trying to keep up the appearance that they were paying far attention to all their other cases.

By four, Elliot was incredibly sick of looking at pictures of himself. For all of Kathy's declarations that he was the most self-centered, egotistical slimeball to ever walk the Earth, he was fairly certain he never wanted to see another picture of himself as long as he lived, not even if Olivia or his kids were in it. Still, he resolved that he was going to keep looking because he had to, because Olivia wouldn't stop looking for him.

A few minutes after seven, Munch announced that they'd finally reached the end of the prints from the dumpster. He also unhappily acknowledged that for all the names they'd found, none had been more intriguing than Marcus Avery. Although he squeezed his eyes closed and refused to allow himself to be let down, Elliot felt something breaking inside. The quiet announcement sounded like a door slamming to him, as they lost one good opportunity to find out what had happened to Olivia.

His phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts, causing him to jump so much in his seat that he nearly knocked over the soda can he'd been drinking from for the better part of the afternoon. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone and would have ignored it, except that he couldn't take the chance of missing an important piece of information about Olivia.

He flipped open his phone without even looking at the screen, knowing that it wouldn't read 'Liv' and therefore wasn't going to say anything he wanted to see. "Yeah, Stabler."

"Hi, Elliot."

For almost twenty-five years, for half the time Elliot had lived, Kathy's voice had been welcome. Soothing after a stressful day, comforting after the most trying of days. But in more recent times, it had started to hurt, both as a reminder that he'd failed and as evidence that he'd inadvertently hurt her so badly that she was really out to get him.

"Hey, Kath."

There was a long pause, during which it was obvious they were both hoping the other would break the silence. Eventually, Kathy cleared her throat. "How's it going?" The words were barely out when she tried to change them. "I mean the search. Did you find Olivia?"

Feeling like he was letting someone else down, his shoulders collapsed forward, his hands catching his face. "No. We can't find her. We haven't – I mean –"

"Don't, El, it's ok." She was silent, recognizing how terribly lost her ex-husband was without his partner, smarting from the sting that she'd been right about some of it, even if not about all of it. "I – uh – You're not picking Eli tonight, are you?"

His heart dropped into his shoes. Fuck if he wasn't really the biggest dumbass to ever live. He'd been staring at pictures of his kids, including his youngest, all afternoon and evening, and yet he'd still managed to forget his son. Rather than the explosion of rage he or Kathy might have expected on any other day, tears pricked Elliot's eyes. He loved his son and he didn't want to lose him. And he suspected forgetting entirely about having visitation with him wasn't going to win him any points with the psycho lawyer Kathy'd hired. Once Olivia was home, Elliot knew he'd be indescribably angry at himself.

"I'll be there in a half hour, Kathy. I just got tied up with something." He wasn't sure why he was bothering to make excuses; since the divorce, he didn't need to bother any longer.

"No, El, it's ok. Stay there. You're probably working around the clock anyway." Her tone was understanding, but their lawyers had trained him to distrust it.

"It's my week. I'll be there in a bit." Even as he said it, he knew Kathy and her buddy Tom were going to crucify him if they caught on to the idea that Elliot was taking Eli right back to the office. Maybe he could set the carrier on Olivia's desk to remind him of what a fuck-up he was, letting down the two people who needed him most.

"Elliot, I wanted to see if you could switch weeks with me anyway. I have an appoin – um – a conference next week. I'll take him this week, you take him next week." Kathy's lie was obvious even to someone who hadn't known her since she was young teen.

Even so, he appreciated the attempt. "Are you sure? I can get him. It's not a problem." He figured Cragen was going to kick him out soon. He'd been remarkably well-behaved all day, if he discounted the fact that his breakdown had happened first thing. He was pretty much too tired to have a tantrum anyway.

"Besides, Olivia will be back by then and you'll be able to talk her into doing half your paperwork, right?" Her hopefulness conveyed the idea that she continued to worry about the woman whose life had intersected hers countless times in a decade.

But rather than appreciating Kathy's honest emotion, Elliot was crushed by her words, unable to stop the tears that actually spilled at the idea. "Jesus, Kath, if she's not – I don't know – I can't –" Luckily the lump in his throat cut off any further attempts at speaking. Unfortunately, it was after his waterworks had caught the attention of everyone in the room.

"Focus on finding her, El. She deserves your full attention." Kathy's voice sounded reassuring, emotional, honest, but Elliot was torn. Kathy was fighting him tooth and nail for every single minute with their baby, her lawyer continually escalating the fight to the point where Elliot wasn't even sure how they'd gotten along enough to have Eli in the first place.

He swallowed, swiping angrily at his tears, trying to make words come out. But he couldn't get anything further than a whispered plea of her name, begging her not to kick him while he was down, entreating her to not take his son when someone had already taken his partner.

"I fired Tom, Elliot." She made a sound, something halfway between a sob and a laugh. "He tried to tell me that I owed him an extra four thousand dollars for the PI's services since you demanded the pictures. He'd only charged me a hundred to hire the guy in the first place, so I asked him what cost so much." Kathy paused to clear her throat. "My god, El, he said there were thousands of pictures, that the guy had been following you and Olivia and the kids and I realized Tom really was an ass. That PI should be in prison."

Elliot would have laughed that he and Kathy had finally found common ground. But he couldn't say a word at the risk of the tears resurfacing.

"We can work this out. I'll work with your lawyer. We can split him fifty-fifty while he's so little. It might be more complicated when he starts school, but that's years from now, El."

He found words, words that he managed to force past his dry throat. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't thank me, El." She stopped for a long time, but there was something in her tone that told him she wasn't finished. And finally, she continued. "I was mad, more at myself than you, for letting you go, for letting you get away. I didn't want to lose you, but I sure as hell can't live with you." Her voice changed, reflecting the smile that Elliot couldn't see. "Give me a call if you when you find Olivia, ok?"

He couldn't quite believe his luck. How could he get so lucky for Kathy to drop the damn grudge she'd been holding for so long and allow him to share custody of Eli? "Night, Kathy." Hanging up the phone, Elliot looked up, his eyes immediately moving to meet Olivia's, expecting her to be at her desk, wanting to share his good news. And the icy cold truth instantly hit him, reminding him that he'd already lost Olivia and therefore no amount of good luck would cause him to break even.

He turned his eyes back to the pictures, opening the last box and pulling a stack onto his desk. He had to find her. His words to Kathy, his inability to comprehend facing another day, another week, another anything without knowing where Olivia was, had been true. He needed to keep his mind on Olivia; once he found her, he could consider anything else.

It was quarter to eleven when he flipped to the last picture in his stack. And for the second time that day, he was sure he was going to have a stroke. "Son of a bitch!" He didn't even know how he got there, but he was in Cragen's office, throwing the picture on his desk.

Cragen's mouth fell open as he took in the image, shock causing a delay in his response. But he found his way to his feet, shoving past Elliot, calling out to Munch and Lake. "Go pick up Avery. Now." He swallowed hard, sharing the hideous guilty feeling that they'd wasted all their time on Howie when they'd been on to Avery in the first place.

Elliot snatched the picture back from his boss, falling into his seat and staring at the angry, vengeful face of Mark Avery, his eyes locked on Olivia's. Even in the dim light, the pale color of her skin reflected her surprise, her recognition, her fear. But there was one thing Elliot didn't understand. The time stamp on the photograph put it less than twenty-four hours before her abduction, the evening before everything had gone to hell.

Avery had seen her, had recognized her. And Olivia knew the man was outside her apartment.

Elliot couldn't figure out why she hadn't told him, why she hadn't trusted him. She'd obviously been in danger and she hadn't wanted his help.


	31. T Minus 1 Day, part 1

T Minus 1 Day

T Minus 1 Day

It took Munch and Lake almost five hours to find Avery and drag him back to the 16. Everyone expected Elliot would be chomping at the bit, ready to tear the man apart. Instead, he watched silently while his coworkers led the unhappy, whining man into interrogation. It wasn't that he didn't notice; he did. It was that he thought his cold stare with an almost inhuman hate illuminating it might disturb Avery considerably.

And he was right. They'd heard him coming, bitching all the way from the elevator about false arrest and police brutality. Elliot had plenty of time to turn around and stare at Avery. And Avery, after taking one look at Elliot's cold, hard stare, shut up.

Elliot waited for ten solid minutes, knowing the time would drive Avery crazy. Plus, he needed to convince himself he was calm. He knew killing Avery, no matter how many people were willing to help cover it up, wouldn't help him. He grabbed the picture and stood up, pausing to look at Cragen as the older man stared through the mirror at Avery.

"Get Casey down here. We need to search his place."

Cragen nodded. "Already called her. Fingerprints and the picture should be enough to get us inside his place."

Taking a deep breath, Elliot opened the door and faced Avery. Avery's dark eyes met his, curious, questioning. Elliot said nothing. He simply pulled out the chair across from Avery and sat down before sliding the photograph across the table.

Avery's eyes slowly dropped down, widening when he saw the image, but he said nothing. Neither did Elliot.

There was a knock at the door and Cragen was leaning in by the time Elliot turned to look at him. "Casey got it. You want to go or you want us to take it?"

Elliot's eyes moved back to Avery. "We have a search warrant for your place, Avery. What are we going to find when we get there?"

Avery frowned, shrugging his shoulders as though he didn't care. "Nothing. You won't find shit. Go ahead and look."

Grabbing the picture, Elliot lifted it up and held it in front of Avery's eyes. "You lied the last time you were in here. You saw her. You knew where she lived. Why should I believe you now?"

Avery shrugged again, looking away. "I don't care what you believe."

Elliot leaned across the table, grabbing Avery's collar and shaking him. "She'd better be ok, Avery. Cause I swear, if you hurt a hair on her head, I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!"

Avery's face moved slowly, the corners of his mouth turning up to grin. "I knew you were tapping that piece of ass." He puckered his lips, blowing a kiss at Elliot, laughing at the detective's reddened face. "I always wondered what it would be like to hold her down and teach her who was in charge. Bet she liked it when you did it. Did she scream for you too?"

Luckily, Cragen and Fin were there, holding Elliot back when he tried to lunge across the table.

Their combined strength could barely keep him back, but they couldn't keep him quiet. "Fuck you! You fucking asshole! I'll kill you! I'll fucking tear you apart!"

Avery laughed as they pulled Elliot out of the room, fighting and screaming all the way.

There was little doubt that Elliot was serious about the death threats, so Cragen thought it would be best to send him to serve the warrant on Avery's apartment. The dump was a ground floor studio that probably had once been part of a larger place, having been cut off and made a studio by a rent-hungry slum lord. Rather than knock or give any kind of warning, Elliot kicked through the front door and stormed in.

There was a woman there, her full-figure fighting to, and damn near succeeding in, escaping the confines of her lacy black negligee. "Mark, baby, you home?" Her approach, inhibited by the black patent leather stilettos her chubby feet barely fit into, stopped when she saw Elliot. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Where is she?" Elliot was blind with rage, not even noticing the woman beyond the idea that she was not Olivia. He closed the distance between them, bullying her into backing up by crowding into her personal space. "Where did he stash her?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I'm calling the cops!"

"We are the cops." Fin grabbed something off a chair, shoving Elliot slightly to the side, thrusting the fabric at the woman. "Go get dressed, lady. We need to have a little chat down at the station." He was prepared for Elliot to turn on him and had his hands up to fight or soothe, whichever he might need to do. "She probably doesn't know anything, Elliot."

Elliot snarled, quite displeased for having lost someone on whom he could take out his anger. "Why don't you just hire a lawyer for her too?"

"I'm not taking IAB heat for harassing a woman with no clothes on, Elliot. 'Sides, Avery probably didn't bring Olivia here where he'd catch hell from his girlfriend."

The woman emerged a bit later, wearing what could have been described as clothes had they covered more than her negligee. "What do you want? Mark isn't home."

Elliot crowded into her again, pulling the photograph of Avery and Olivia from his shirt pocket and holding it in front of her. "We know he has her. Now where is she?"

The woman scoffed at the picture. "No way. Mark don't do skinny chicks and he definitely don't need no white bitch. You think I'm not enough woman for him?" She put her hands on her hips and thrust her chest at him, her ample cleavage leaving little to the imagination. "I got everything he needs right here."

Elliot smirked at her. "Funny how he talked about banging every bitch he saw then, isn't it?"

Her face fell for a moment before she launched herself at Elliot, blood red nails aiming at his face. "Liar!"

Fin grabbed her, pulling her back. "All right, you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer."

As two of the other officers cuffed her and led her away, Elliot looked around the apartment. The floor was covered with half-empty pizza boxes, empty beer bottles, and overflowing ashtrays. Dirty clothes littered every surface. Stained sheets tacked on the wall served as curtains. The kitchen, at least what appeared to have once been a kitchen, held a refrigerator whose door was attached with duct tape and a stove without a door. The trash covering the floor seemed much older than Avery's parole date.

Elliot found more of the same in the bathroom, the shower and sink covered with thick black mold, the linoleum on the floor curling up on all sides. The smell emanating from the toilet indicated that it hadn't been working in a long time. There was only one closet in the tiny apartment, and it was completely full, causing an avalanche of dirty clothes and broken electronic equipment when Elliot opened the door.

Clearly, Olivia wasn't there and nothing would lead them to her. Furious, Elliot grabbed the first thing he saw, a lamp without a shade, and smashed it into the wall. "Damn it!" Fin and the other officers there to search watched as Elliot kicked aside the coffee table and threw the broken armchair onto its side. "God fucking damn it!"

His energy had burned out and the late hour had started to catch up to him. Leaning against the wall, Elliot watched quietly as the rest of the men went ahead with the search. There wasn't much for them to search, but they tried anyway, tearing the place apart as best they could and somehow managing to leave it in slightly worse condition than it had been before. With nothing except a very mouthy and irritated Tisha Jones in tow, Fin and Elliot returned to the precinct a few minutes before two in the morning.

Cragen's disappointment was obvious as he met them. "Fin, can you take care of the paperwork work for Ms. Jones?" As soon as Fin nodded and went to his desk, Cragen turned to Elliot. "It's late."

Elliot missed the point entirely. "Yeah, I want to talk to Avery. See what I can get out of him."

"No, Elliot, you've been here just over twenty hours. Go home or to the crib. Either way, you need some sleep." Cragen's face was drawn and tight, his red eyes revealing that he needed sleep too, but they both knew he wasn't willing to risk leaving Elliot anywhere near Avery when he wouldn't be there to prevent any trouble.

Elliot closed his eyes, sighing when he did so, realizing how tired his body was even though his mind had no intention of resting. "Cap, I don't-"

"Leave, Elliot. I can't order you to actually sleep, but I can order you to leave." Cragen shoved him toward the hallway. "And I just did."

Whether or not his mind needed the rest, his feet were dragging as he made his way to the doors of the precinct. For that brief period, he'd been so excited, so convinced that he was gong to find Olivia in Avery's apartment. The letdown was considerable, leaving him even more drained than he had been before. More disturbing than the fact that he was going home to face another night without knowing where or how Olivia was, more disturbing than the fact that he had grown used to the pattern of going crazy and eventually being sent home against his will, was the fact that the letdown, the sudden realization that all his worry and work and energy had been futile, had become familiar. He was used to it. The painful grip around his heart and lungs that told him he wouldn't be finding Olivia that night was constant, a regular feeling that filled him with dread and pain.

Preoccupied as he was, he nearly tripped over the woman on the steps. Her blonde hair hung forward, obscuring her face, but Elliot could see her hands wrapped around her calves. He shifted easily back into cop mode, forever looking for someone he could protect. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

The head bobbed up, the hair suddenly shifting into a familiar shape around her shoulders. "Daddy!" She jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him tight before he had quite figured out who she was.

He pulled back from the embrace, shifting into dad mode just as easily. "Maureen, it's the middle of the night! What are you doing out at this hour?"

Grinning, she took his hand and leaned over to grab the paper bag at her feet. "I'm twenty-two, dad. When you were my age, you were in the Marines."

He rolled his eyes, trying not to see her as a pig-tailed three-year-old sucking her thumb. "And the Marines didn't let us out roaming the streets all night."

"Any news about Olivia?" Her brown eyes were tinged with sadness, yet still shining with hope.

He shook his head, thankful for the small hand in his that he could squeeze. "Not yet. We thought we had something tonight, but it- uh- nothing panned out."

"I'm sorry. Maybe you'll find her tomorrow." Maureen shook the bag in her hand at him. "And I'll bet you haven't eaten today."

As if taking sides, his stomach growled loudly as soon as the smell of the burgers reached him. "No, actually, I haven't. How'd you find out about Olivia anyway?"

Rolling her eyes, Maureen dropped her father's hand in favor of wrapping her arm around his waist. "Mom told me the other day, but then tonight she said you sounded really bad. We figured you weren't eating or sleeping and that you were only going home when Cragen made you."

He was blushing as he shrugged, refusing to admit that his ex-wife and eldest daughter knew him so painfully well. "Where'd you get the burgers?"

"Nick's, of course."

"Nick still giving you free food?" He grinned, remembering how proud she'd been of dating the proprietor's son when she'd been in high school, when free food was the epitome of cool.

"Not since I dumped his son."

He chuckled. "Not worth free food?"

"Not by a long shot, daddy. You have no idea." She reached out, taking the keys from his hand. "Let me drive. You're dead on your feet."

He wanted to argue, but when he opened his mouth, a yawn escaped in place of words. He was sound asleep by the end of the block.

Maureen had already poked her father in the shoulder three times and hadn't gotten anything out of him. She'd even tried waving the burgers in front of him. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him harder. "Daddy!"

"Liv!" He jerked upright, painfully slamming himself into the seatbelt. His heart was racing as images of his nightmare continued to flash in his mind. Being awake was no better, not when the nightmare didn't end. He finally realized where he was and scrubbed his hands down his face. "Sorry, baby."

His scream, the terror in his voice, the pain in his eyes, broke her heart. There were tears in her eyes as she shook her head. "It's ok, daddy. You'll find her. She'll be ok."

He felt bad already. Making his daughter cry didn't make him feel any better. He forced out a smile. "Let's go inside and eat."

Maureen's cringe was priceless as she scoffed at him. "Are you kidding? I'm not eating that grease! I like my arteries unclogged, thanks."

He couldn't help but laugh at her health conscious tendencies. As many times as people declared that Maureen was very much her father's daughter, the love of rabbit food was definitely her mother's influence. "Good, then you can take Eli after I have a heart attack."

She shook her head, letting them into his apartment with his key. "As soon as Olivia's home, we're going to have a sit-down about your eating habits, young man."

He recognized the stern stare as one he'd given her a million times. "Oh, no, not a sit-down. Please don't ground me."

She giggled, dropping the burgers on the coffee table and going into the kitchen to get a drink. "Beer, beer, beer, and two diet Cokes." She returned to the living room with the sodas. "Seriously dad, when's the last time you ate a salad?"

He'd already downed half a burger, chasing it with a third of the soda before he could answer. "I eat salads all the time."

"Uh huh, sure." Maureen shook her head and looked around the bachelor pad. "Ok, so we'll have to make a date. I'll take you to the grocery store and then we'll go to Ikea."

Elliot looked around, seeing the cheap furniture and drab empty walls through his daughter's eyes. With a smile, he recalled the way Olivia's face fell when she was there for the first time. The only relief from the dull beige was the occasional piece of Eli's clothing or toys scattered about the room. "Why don't you and Olivia go shopping with my card, since you two are the only ones that actually care?"

Maureen's eyes widened. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

With a nod, Elliot scarfed down the rest of his burger. "Olivia hates shopping. More than I do."

"That's not possible."

"She orders her groceries online." The lengths to which Olivia would go to avoid a store amazed him, especially when he thought about how much money she would waste to do so.

"Wow. That's bad." Maureen sipped at her soda. "So when, exactly, do you eat salads?"

Elliot had moved on to the second burger, shoving slightly less than half of it into his mouth as a nod to tact. Once he swallowed it, he smiled. "I eat salads three or four times a week."

Finally catching on, Maureen started to laugh. "Food that you pick off Olivia's plate when she's finished does not count as a salad, daddy."

"Oh." He snickered and drank the last of his soda. "Never mind then."

With the first food in his stomach in days, he actually felt a little better. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost three. "We should really get to bed, hon."

Maureen nodded, pushing the single throw pillow to the edge and fluffing it a bit. "I'll take the couch."

Elliot grinned. "Good idea." He'd been meaning, ever since he moved out of the house in Queens, to get around to buying furniture for the second bedroom so his kids would have somewhere to sleep when they came over. Of course, he'd been meaning to do a lot of things that pretty much never got done.

He grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and returned to drape it over Maureen. As grown up as she was, as much as she tried to parent both he and Kathy, she was still very much a little girl, as evidenced by the tattered stuffed lion she pulled from her backpack. Elliot smiled as he tucked her in, happy that she was letting him baby her.

He tapped her feet. "Lift up." Obediently, Maureen lifted her legs, allowing Elliot to tuck the blanket tightly around her legs. When he was done, he patted her knees. "Good girl."

She grinned up at him and squeezed her lion. "Good night, daddy."

"Night, baby." He leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Thanks for dinner."

As he rounded the corner, he heard Maureen's voice call out, bidding him sweet dreams. He said nothing, expecting his nightmares would plague him again. But they didn't. His dreams were sweet, just as Maureen had hoped; sweeter than he could have ever predicted.


	32. T Minus 1 Day, part 2

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

He knew he was dreaming. He had to be. Because he knew Olivia pretty damn well and he was almost certain that she would never wear what she was wearing, unless, of course, he was dreaming.

Standing there, in the doorway of his bedroom, backlit by a soft glow coming from a lamp he knew he didn't own, was Olivia Benson. He saw her feet first, for some odd reason recognizing her in the shiny red peep-toe pumps he'd never seen. With a hard swallow and a personal assurance he didn't have a foot fetish, he forced his eyes up, slowly tracing the long line of her legs behind the sheer black hose. He almost choked when the beautiful sight of her thighs ended, interrupted by the rounded edge of a man's white dress shirt. Somehow, perhaps because he was well aware that he was dreaming, he knew it was his and he had to take a minute to keep himself from coming right then. A few inches later, his eyes found the pointed end of a red necktie, matching the shoes exactly.

His mouth fell open and he hoped his dream Olivia was particularly turned on by drool. One of her hands was at her waist, the loose shirt bunching up under her hand. His eyes continued their journey, seeing the loosened knot and the half unbuttoned shirt, just the way he usually threw them when he was tired. It was an incredible turn on to think that she'd just put on what he'd been wearing.

But as his eyes drifted further, a lacy red bra peeked through the unbuttoned shirt, teasing him with the idea of what might be underneath. He shook his head, forcing himself to keep looking, almost whimpering at the sight that was her face, her normally light make up was gone, replaced by heavy black eyeliner and ruby red lips.

Those beautiful lips curved into a smile. "Welcome home, El."

He tried to smile, only to find that he was thoroughly distracted by her right leg moving out for the shirt to cross over her left. The movement revealed what had barely been hidden by the hem of the shirt, the swirling lace pattern at the top of her stockings. And then he really did whimper, taking in the sight of her olive skin peeking over the top, around the clips of her garter.

His head flopped down on the pillow as he tried to remember how to breathe. He'd joked with his daughter about the burgers and clogged arteries, but now that he seemed to be having one, a heart attack didn't seem nearly so funny.

A minute later, he felt the bed shift as she climbed in. Her hand was cool as it snuck under the edge of his t-shirt, sliding up to lay against his chest. A lighthearted giggle filled the air between them.

"Getting a bit of a workout there, detective?"

He licked his lips, trying to bring some moisture to his dry mouth. "I think I might need CPR soon."

She grinned as she leaned over him, the fingers of her other hand trailing gently over his face. "Please tell me you need mouth-to-mouth, Elliot."

He reached up and grabbed her tie, pulling her close. "Definitely."

Their mouths met halfway between them, the pull between them seeming magnetic. His hands automatically wrapped around her, finding her frame familiar and comfortable in his arms. He seemed to know the way she felt against him, recognizing the way she pulled him up to a sitting position as she kept kissing him.

Although he'd been the one to initiate it, she quickly took control, her tongue tracing his lips, dipping between them, sliding against his. When she withdrew, he didn't have a chance to reciprocate. Her teeth nipped at his lip, pulling the swollen tissue into her mouth, sucking on it, licking at it. She kept pulling back, breaking the kiss only enough to change tactics, kissing him, biting him, teasing him. Every time he tried to get control, she'd pull away, giggling at his frustration.

He gave in, let her control the kiss, as his hands started to roam over her, tracing the length of her legs, daring to touch the soft, uncovered skin at the top of her thighs. She wiggled, revealing a bit of her own desire, and he laughed, enjoying the moment of power.

But then she asserted herself again, pulling back from the kiss and pouting. Her arms folded across her chest, pushing her breasts together, toward the open front of the shirt. "Someone's being a bad boy."

Baby talk was the last thing he expected, and he started to laugh.

Only until he saw her hand disappear under her shirt. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack when the hand reemerged, dangling a pair of shiny silver handcuffs. He swallowed, finding it impossible to speak.

"You know what happens to bad boys, don't you?"

He couldn't do anything but stare as she leaned forward, her mussed lipstick and wet lips teasing him as she brushed by him, twisting his willing arms back behind him. The click of the cuffs seemed to echo in his ears.

The sound was chased away by her husky voice, breathing against his ear. "Is that too tight?"

Unable to speak, he shook his head. He had no freaking clue if the cuffs were too tight. The feeling in his hands was the last of his worries as his body bucked up against her, suddenly desperate for her touch.

She wiggled back, pushing herself up to her knees so her weight was off him. "Scoot back."

He did as she instructed, shifting backwards until his shoulders hit the headboard.

"Good boy." She winked at him. Then her hands slowly moved over her shirt, cupping her breasts, moving in to pull her tie free. His eyes were glued to her chest, waiting for another tantalizing glimpse of her bare skin. "Like what you see?" She laughed at his eager nod. Her hands started working the buttons, slowly opening the front of her shirt, letting him see a thin strip of skin down her front.

With a grin, her hands moved up, working the white cotton down her narrow shoulders, showing the red straps of her bra, revealing the rest of her torso in a teasingly slow fashion. She paused when her shirt fell against his legs, leaning back on her palms, stretching her legs out on either side of him, letting him enjoy the sight of her in his lap, dressed only in a skimpy red lace bra and thong set, matching red garter belt, black stockings, and red stilettos.

"Holy fucking god." His head fell back, slamming painfully into the wall.

She laughed at him, her fingers dancing up his thighs, brushing lightly over his erection, continuing to slide up. She pushed his shirt up, lifting it over his head, sliding it down to bunch at his restrained wrists. Her nails scraped gently across his skin, pausing to circle his nipples.

"I hope you don't mind that I went shopping." Her eyes darted to the small pink bag sitting on the floor against his wall. "With your card."

He chuckled and shook his head. "By all means, sweetheart, I'd sell a kidney to keep you buying those." He nodded at her lingerie.

"I thought you were saving that kidney for me."

His laughter mingled with hers and he caught her eyes. "I love you, Olivia."

She grinned. "I think you love my body."

He shrugged. "That too."

Leaning forward, her lips covered his again. "Conveniently, I love your body too." Her soft hands trailed over his chest, curved over his shoulders, and slipped down his arms. "You're so damn strong." Her voice sounded like a purr as her mouth slide past his ear, her lips rubbing across his chin. "You make me feel safe."

Never in his life had he heard something more welcome. He'd spent his life trying to protect people and even on the rare occasion when he didn't fuck it up, they always wound up hating or resenting him for it. He loved that Olivia was the first one to really get it, to understand that his desire to protect wasn't meant to say she couldn't take care of herself.

He turned his head, capturing her lips easily, deepening the kiss when she offered no resistance. He pulled back a little, loving the whine of protest she offered. "I do love you."

"I know." She grinned, shifting back, stretching her arms behind her. "But do you trust me?"

He wasn't sure what to make of her question or her playful tone, not when his hands were trapped behind him and he'd already consented to giving her complete control. But he nodded anyway. "Of course I do."

Giggling, she brought her arms forward again, the red tie dangling from her fingers. "Good boy." There was a gleam in her eyes, the likes of which he'd never seen before, as she leaned forward.

And then there was nothing but blackness. For a moment, he almost panicked, but the rest of his senses quickly made up for the lack of sight. Olivia's warm, pleasant weight was still settled across his lap. Her arms were around his neck, her chest pressing into his. Her hands were behind his head and he hated that he was going to have to interrupt the wonderful night they were having by mentioning that he'd gone blind. That was when he finally put it together and realized she'd blindfolded him.

Her voice was back by his ear. "Relax. It's just me."

And he wanted to. It wasn't fear or nerves. It was that his other senses were heightened, making her smell seem stronger, her voice seem more intimate, her touch almost painful in its intensity.

She pressed a series of kisses along his neck, her fingers trailing behind as her mouth moved down over his chest. Without being able to see or touch her, he gave up the attempt to participate and let his head loll back against the wall. He let her hands explore his body, loving the way her mouth felt as she licked and sucked and kissed his chest and stomach.

He felt her ass shift backwards, her hands skimming the sides of his waist and hips as her mouth kept working lower. Her fingers found the top of his boxers, brushing under the elastic, causing him to jump.

He knew what she was intending and he couldn't do it. He wouldn't. Not again. As much as he wanted to give himself over to the dream, as much as he already had fallen for it, he refused to let it happen. But even with the conscious knowledge that he was dreaming, that his Olivia was at someone else's mercy, the dream didn't lose its control over him.

He jerked under her, trying to get her attention. "No, Liv, stop."

Her weight shifted suddenly and just as suddenly, he could see. Her eyes were wide, startled, moist. "What? What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head, feeling his own eyes prick with tears to match hers. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, baby." He saw her head tip down, averting her eyes, reaching for the shirt she'd cast aside. "Liv, don't. I just-" She looked up again, her eyes locking on his, not even trying to hide her hurt. "Can I just hold you tonight?"

She looked confused, but nodded anyway. Standing up, she reached behind him, pulling his hands free of the binding. "I'll just go change."

He caught her hand, pulling her back onto the bed. "No, you're perfect."

Her face looked apprehensive, as though she was mortified her set up hadn't worked and wanted to hide any evidence of it. But she settled in beside him, tucking her shoulder under his and wrapping her arm across his stomach. "I'm sorry you didn't like it."

He leaned down, kissing the top of her head. "When you come home, we can do anything you want." He smoothed her hair and snuggled closer to her. "Anything, baby." He pulled the blanket over them, wondering why his dream Olivia hadn't commented on his reference to her being gone. "I just want to be close to you tonight."

Her voice was soft, filled with sleep, when she answered, but her words echoed like she'd shouted them in his ear. "I love you, Elliot."

He smiled at the ceiling, quite content for his lot in life, and turned to leave one last kiss on her hair before she drifted to sleep. But when he looked, he found a pillow in place of her body in his arms. He'd known it was a dream all along and yet it hurt to no longer have that part of her in his arms. He choked on the sob, remembering that Maureen was in the living room and probably would be none too comforted by the idea that her father was crying.

Reaching for his watch on the nightstand, he nearly cried again. It was a few minutes before five and with the way Cragen had thrown him out only a few hours before, Elliot was certain the front desk sergeant wouldn't let him anywhere near the squad. Knowing he wasn't going to sleep anymore, he got up and took a shower. He missed the scent of her soap and the softness of her towels and even the presence of a simple green mat on the cold tile floor.

After he pulled on some clean clothes, ones that he hadn't shrunk due to Olivia's ridiculously hot dryer, he headed for the kitchen. He was just trying to waste time, so he put a pot of coffee on. He didn't even want it, but he found something comforting in the inanity, in the normalcy. Getting up, taking a shower, making coffee. They were things he always did. Things that were usually followed by him leaving for work, maybe stopping off for a bagel if he'd been particularly rotten to Olivia the day before and needed a peace offering. And then, the culmination of his day – seeing Olivia at her desk, most of the time with a smile aimed at him.

And so, staring at the freshly brewed coffee, he felt a tremendous, crushing letdown, the same one he'd grown painfully familiar with, weighing him down. No longer able to even fake himself out, he abandoned the kitchen. He really didn't have much furniture, so he wound up collapsing on the armchair in the living room. Maureen was sound asleep, her precious lion and the pillow long since flung to the floor, her thin frame curled into a tight ball under the blanket.

He leaned forward, gently brushing her hair out of her face. She was his baby. His firstborn. The one who got all the attention, all the new clothes and toys and energy. He'd been so young when she was born, still hopeful that the world would be a wonderful place for her. But rather than the babbling toddler that drove him up the walls or the boisterous pre-teen who thought defiance and stubbornness were the qualities of her father she should emulate, his eyes saw a young woman, an adult.

Her hair was cut short in a chin length bob, making her appear a few years older. Instead of worn jeans and a stained t-shirt, she wore pressed khakis and an oxford. Her beat-up black leather boots had been replaced by low heeled brown loafers.

He couldn't figure out exactly when that had happened, when his baby had grown up.

Kathleen had grown up much the same way, albeit with far more growing pains than her low-maintenance sister. Even his twins were nearly old enough to drive. He'd missed so much, given up so much for his job. He loved his job. He was good at his job. But the last six days had shown him something important.

It wasn't really about the job. It wasn't the job that he loved.

It was about Olivia. It was her that he loved.

Maureen shifted, stretching her arms out and twisting her neck. For a second, her eyes flashed open, her lips smiling at him, and then she dropped back to sleep. His baby was old enough to have a baby. He had another chance, another baby, another person whose life hadn't been darkened by a missing-in-action father, a father who was too busy saving other people to raise his kids. Kathy had done a hell of a job raising the first four and someday he knew he'd have to thank her for it.

Walking back to the kitchen, he remembered Cragen's stern words about things changing when Olivia returned. For the first time, Elliot agreed with the idea. He was just shy of his pension. He could transfer out of Special Victims, spend his last eighteen months in an easier unit, retire early, maybe pick up a part-time job, maybe stay home and take care of Eli.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, sipping at it while he thought about his plan. It would enable him to have everything – everything he wanted. He'd have a predictable schedule, plenty of time for Eli. He'd have a squad that didn't think he was a co-dependent fuck-up who mooned after his partner.

And, most importantly, he'd have Olivia.

Because she was what it was all about after all.


	33. T Minus 1 Day, part 3

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

In an attempt to waste some time until he might have a fighting chance to get in the precinct, Elliot flipped through the stack of mail on the counter. He hadn't been paying any attention to the date, not since Olivia had vanished, and found a couple bills that he really needed to pay. He managed to concentrate on them long enough to write out two checks, but he couldn't remember where he'd put the stamps and he couldn't be bothered to find them. With a frustrated sigh, he stacked the envelopes back up and pushed them aside. His bills could wait.

He thought about Olivia for a moment, wondered if maybe he should check her mailbox. She'd probably be pretty pissed to come home and find out her credit cards were past due and she was being evicted. He decided he'd check them that night. He figured he'd be able to find his stamps for Olivia's sake.

Maureen came stumbling into the kitchen a little after six. "Morning, daddy."

He smiled as she opened the fridge, clearly mistaking his empty fridge for the well-stocked one at her mother's house. "Morning. There's really not much in there."

She withdrew a carton of milk, folding open the top and sniffing. "Oh, god!" She turned toward the sink, dumping the carton upside down, ignoring her father's chuckle. There was a thump as the contents of the milk fell forward, revealing that it had turned into a solid mass. "Daddy, are you trying to kill yourself?"

"I warned you." He decided he should check Olivia's fridge as well, so she wouldn't come home to curdled milk. "Are you hungry?"

Maureen looked at him and then looked back at the empty fridge. "Are you planning on feeding me?"

"No, I'm taking a poll." He waited for he requisite eye roll. "Yes, hon, I'll feed you."

She looked down at her wrinkled clothes. "It'll have to be quick, though, cause I have to get home and change for work."

Elliot steered her toward the door. "I'll see what I can do."

By the time Maureen was fed and on her way to work, it was seven and Elliot determined he'd stayed away from the precinct long enough. Cragen was already there, as was Munch. Elliot sat down at his desk, feeling the same listless indecision that always plagued him when he didn't get enough sleep.

He looked over at Munch. "Avery still here?"

Munch nodded. "Fin and Lake have been in there since first thing."

Elliot stood up, moving to look in on the interrogation. Avery was in the same chair as when Elliot had left. He looked beat, his shoulders sagging, his eyes drooping. Cragen appeared beside him, nodding toward Avery.

"They've been trying to get his alibi for an hour. He said he was with his girlfriend last Wednesday."

Elliot felt a pang of guilt for the way he'd charged the woman when he served the search warrant on Avery. "Let me guess, Ms. Jones has no memory of him being home."

With a rueful smile, Cragen nodded. "When we mentioned that you might not care enough to press charges, she suddenly remembered Avery wasn't home."

"So he hasn't offered up anything else?" Elliot knew it was a long shot that it would be so easy to catch him, but he wanted to hold out hope.

"That's what they're working on. Ms. Jones just left about ten minutes ago."

Fin and Lake emerged after another few minutes. Lake nodded at Elliot.

Fin motioned toward Avery. "He gave us two strippers – Summer and Desiree – from the 211 Club."

Lake shrugged. "Swears he was with them all night."

"We're going to check it out before he has a chance to call them."

Cragen nodded. "Let me know as soon as you have anything."

Elliot stepped toward the door. "I'll see what I can get out of him in the meantime.

"No point in letting him relax." Cragen turned for his office, but stopped and looked back. "Don't kill him, ok?"

Elliot grinned as he shrugged. "No promises, cap." Fairly certain Munch was going to be dispatched to watch him, Elliot let himself into the room with Avery.

Avery looked up slowly, obviously disappointed. "Oh, what do you want?"

Elliot fixed Avery with a hard stare. "Tell me something, Mark, who's Maggie?" As soon as he said the name, Elliot watched Avery closely for any response.

"How the fuck should I know?" Avery shrugged, but then his eyes widened. "You're trying to pin another one on me? Shit, how desperate are you?"

Elliot clenched his teeth hard and folded his arms over his chest. "Where is Olivia?"

He threw his hands up in the air. "Look, I already told you I don't know."

"You saw her. You knew where she lived. You had a grudge. It's pretty damn straightforward to me." Elliot sat down, folding his hands together on the table, reminded himself that he couldn't kill Avery. Not just yet, at least.

Avery shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I say. You're never going to find your girlfriend cause you're waiting for me to tell you where I stashed her."

Elliot wasn't particularly interested in anything Avery had to say unless it was an address where Olivia was, but he found an admission of guilt in Avery's words. "Where the hell is she?"

Avery jumped to his feet. "Fuck, man, I don't know!"

Elliot was on his feet too, moving around the table in a flash. "What do you mean you don't know? Where did you put her?"

"I didn't put her anywhere! I didn't touch her!" Avery kept backing up, trying to keep the table between them. "So I lied before. I did see her. I saw her that one time, but I didn't touch her! What do I want to go back in the joint for fucking with a damn cop for?"

"You're a rapist, Avery. A sick fuck rapist. You don't think. You saw her. You hate her. You had the perfect opportunity to get even with her." Elliot continued to give chase, knowing that he could flip the table out of his way in a second.

"No, you're not fucking listening to me! I was on heroin, man, I didn't know what I was doing back then. I went to prison, I served my time, but I swear I didn't touch your damn girlfriend!" Avery backed against the mirror, giving up his attempt to get away. "I can't help you! Go ahead and kill me if you want!"

Elliot started to close in, fairly sure that Avery would change his tune as soon as Elliot's hands were around his throat. But the tap on the glass startled him, calling his attention away from Avery. He knew Munch was trying to keep Avery from winding up dead. Elliot glared at Avery. "I'm not done with you."

He yanked open the door and slammed it closed behind him. "What, Munch? What do you want?"

Except it wasn't Munch. It was Cragen, appearing more than a little disappointed. "What did I tell you about killing suspects?"

"He has her. The bastard has Olivia. I'm done playing nice with him."

Cragen shook his head, pointing toward the bullpen. "Go calm down. We've had him here all night, we've brought his girlfriend in. Let's wait until we hear from Fin and Lake." Cragen waited to follow Elliot out, making sure he didn't double back. "Avery isn't the only suspect. I seem to remember you being pretty hot for Howie, too."

Elliot glared at Cragen, hating his boss for throwing his emotions in his face. "Somebody has her. She didn't decide to run away."

Cragen nodded. "Yes, Elliot, someone does have her. But you can't beat up everyone on Earth until you figure out which one of them it is."

He slumped down into his seat. "Why the hell not?"

Ignoring the comment, Cragen shook his head. "Call O'Halloran. See what he's got on the prints from the library. As good as Avery looks for this, I'd still like to see what it is that Howie's hiding."

Elliot hated being wrong. He hated being corrected. But he took it in stride, refocusing his attention on the other suspect, taking the direction of Cragen happily since he recognized his own instincts were only telling him to beat up whoever was in front of him at any given moment. O'Halloran didn't answer, so he left a message

He wasn't surprised when his phone rang ten minutes later and he grabbed it. "Give me good news, O'Halloran."

The pause on the other end was longer than it should have been. Eventually, a female cleared her throat. "I'm trying to reach Detective Elliot Stabler."

"Yeah, what can I do for you?" He searched his memory for a name to match the voice, but he came up blank.

"This is Angela Andrews. I spoke with you a few times at the Owens Library at Huds-"

Groaning inwardly, Elliot cut her off. "I remember you, Ms. Andrews. How can I help you?"

Her voice lifted an octave in her excitement. "You remember me? Well, that's so sweet! I'm sure you meet so many people everyday."

Had it been a regular day, Elliot would have snickered in anticipation of relaying the conversation to Olivia. But Olivia wasn't there to joke with and therefore Elliot found no humor in the situation. "I'm very busy, Ms. Andrews. Was there a reason you called?"

She was quiet for a moment, obviously put off by his angry voice. "I was curious if you were still looking for Howie Druskin."

That got his attention and he focused completely on the caller. "Yes, ma'am, we are still looking for him, and his real name as well."

"I only know him as Howie, but he's here. He came in a few minutes ago and went right upstairs."

And suddenly, Elliot wanted to hug the woman. "Thank you very much. We'll be right there." Standing up, Elliot was already on the way out the door before he remembered to call out to Munch. "Howie's at the library, Munch. Let's go."

Munch was barely in the car when Elliot peeled away from the curb, his mind reset on Howie as a lead suspect, Avery could have ceased to exist for all he cared. Munch dared to voice Elliot's sudden and unforeseen attitude change, asking if Elliot even noticed that he didn't seem to care who he was ready to kill so long as he would get the opportunity to try to kill someone.

Elliot glared at him as he sped through one red light after another, not quite checking to make sure he wasn't about to be in or cause a major accident as he drove. He didn't want to risk losing track of Howie again and he trusted the red light on the dash would give fair warning to anyone daring to cross his path.

Although Elliot's irritated glare would have constituted enough of a warning to anyone else, Munch didn't quite care. "I'm serious, Elliot. A half hour ago, you wanted Avery's head on a stick. Now, Howie's in the hot seat."

Slamming on the brakes and vaguely aimed the car at a parking spot, Elliot shrugged. "At least I'm trying to find her. You're just standing around commenting on my behavior."

Munch fell in step beside him. "I'm trying to find Olivia. I just don't necessarily believe that I need to violate the civil liberties of everyone who crosses my path until I do so."

Elliot yanked open the door. "Avery's a rapist and Howie's a freak. What's the problem?"

Munch shook his head. "There are some strange individuals who might consider my brilliant self to be a freak."

"Those strange individuals constitute the entire population of the Earth, John." Elliot slowed his gait long enough to locate Angela behind the desk. She smiled and nodded toward the steps. Looking back at Munch, Elliot grinned. "Including me."

"Exactly. I don't particularly relish the idea of having my rights violated and clearly you would have no problem doing so." He had to take the stairs two at a time to keep up with Elliot. "Which is why I don't like watching it happen."

Elliot paused at the door, as happy to use his size and glare to intimidate Munch as he normally was to intimidate random strangers. "Let's get one thing straight here, John. As much as you claim to care about Olivia, if you get in my way of finding her or of beating the shit out of the asswipe who has her, I will have absolutely no qualms whatsoever with violating your god damn rights right into the intensive care unit, ok?"

Munch sized Elliot up for a moment, trying to find an indication that he was joking in the fierce stare. When he didn't, he swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah, ok."

With another stern glare, Elliot turned back to the door and pulled it open. He spotted Howie's usual desk, but there was no sign of Howie. Concerned that Howie might have seen them and was planning to slip out, he motioned for Munch to turn left while he took the right. Elliot searched up and down the stacks, searching for Howie. He'd been so sure that Howie would never return there; it pissed him off to be wrong. He was kind of looking forward to the chance to take out his frustrations on Howie.

He reached the last aisle, wanting to hit someone just because he hadn't found Howie. But as he rounded the corner, he saw Munch shoving Howie toward him.

"Hey, Elliot, look who I found hiding behind a library cart!"

Elliot was tempted to hit Howie, but he held himself back. "Howie, where've you been?"

Howie shrugged and looked away. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Why were you hiding?" Elliot narrowed his eyes, believing the behavior was an admission of guilt.

"I wasn't hiding."

Munch guided Howie toward the stairs. "Why don't we give you another lift?"

Howie shook his head, trying to resist. "I really don't want to go anywhere with you two. You said you'd take me home the last time and you didn't. I had to walk home and it took me a long time."

Elliot snarled, especially pissed off that Howie was trying to pretend they had anything to do with how long it had taken him to get home. "Do you think I'm going to fall for your shit again?"

Howie's eyes darted up to meet Elliot's. "I didn't realize you fell for it the last time."

Munch squeezed Howie's arm tightly. "How about you shut up or I'll let my partner kill you."

Howie turned to look at Munch and then glanced back at Elliot. "I thought Olivia was your partner."

Elliot grabbed Howie's collar, shoving him backwards through the door to the stairs, leaving it questionable for several moments as to whether or not he would actually throw Howie down that stairs. "You said you didn't know Olivia, Howie. Did you lie to me?"

Howie shook his head, his eyes widening in fear. "No, I just – I mean, I don't know her. But you said the other day that she was your partner. I just got confused."

When they returned to the precinct, Elliot flung Howie into the interrogation room. He only realized after he'd shut the door that Avery was gone. Leaving Munch to watch Howie, Elliot stormed into Cragen's office.

"Where the hell is Avery?"

Cragen took a deep breath. "Didn't I just see you dragging another suspect in here?"

Elliot did what he always did when someone pointed out a gaping hole in his logic. He narrowed his eyes and glared. "One of these fuckers has her."

"That's not going to fly with a jury." Cragen shook his head. "It's not going to get you an arrest warrant either."

"Maybe they're in it together." He was grasping at straws and he knew it.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer." Cragen's yawn revealed that despite grabbing a few hours of sleep he was still as exhausted as the rest of them. "Avery's alibi checked out."

The fury was rising back up, although it was more in frustration than at Cragen. "Right and we all know that strippers are always reliable."

"Have you even stopped to consider that maybe it's neither of them? Maybe we simply have another god damn predator out there to add to the millions we're already aware of?"

"While you're investigating that possibility, is it ok with you if I have a little chat with Howie?"

Cragen stood up and walked around his desk, coming toe to toe with Elliot. "I know you want to find her. We all do. But take it easy. You've already gone at Howie several times and it hasn't gotten you anywhere."

"Call Huang. Maybe he'll know how to work Howie." Although Elliot was still convinced that bashing heads into walls was the quickest and most efficient way to get information out of people, he had to admit that the soft-spoken doctor often got information in his own way.

"I'll do that." Cragen nodded. "Just make sure Howie's not bleeding when George gets here."

Elliot shrugged. "I'll try."

Returning to the interrogation room, Elliot sat down across from Howie. "So, Howie, is there anything you want to tell me?"

Howie swallowed loud enough for it to be audible, but he shook his head.

Elliot leaned forward, flexing the muscles in his arms as he rested them on the table. "I'm a reasonable man, Howie." Without warning, he slammed his fists down so hard the table shook. Howie jumped back with wide eyes. "But my patience is really wearing thin here, buddy."

"I'm not your buddy."

"Maybe you're confused, Howie. You get confused all the time."

Howie shook his head again. "No, I don't. I don't get confused, not ever."

"But at the library you said you did. You said that Olivia was my partner, remember? And then I reminded you that you pretended you didn't know Olivia." Elliot stood up, dragging his chair around to the same side of the table as Howie. "Which is it? Where is she? What did you do to her?"

Howie's eyes darted to the door, but he didn't move. "You're confusing me."

Elliot leaned in, holding Howie's stare. "I thought you don't ever get confused. Howie, you can't keep your story straight for a solid minute. It's all falling apart. You should just tell me and get it over with. Then you can go back to your library and I won't ever bother you again."

Howie shrugged. "But you're trying to confuse me."

"No, I'm just trying to find my partner." Elliot took a deep breath, deciding to try appealing to Howie's humanity, if he had any. "We've been partners for a long time, Howie. We're friends. And I know Olivia's scared right now. You don't want her to be scared, do you?"

Howie shook his head.

"So tell me where she is. She wants to come home. She wants to see her friends."

Howie shrugged. "I don't know Olivia."

He was growing more frustrated by the second, but he tried to hide it. "You remember meeting her, don't you? You said she was pretty." He reached up to demonstrate his cheek. "She had a bruise here. You thought I hit her."

Howie's eyes turned back on Elliot's. "You shouldn't hit girls."

"I didn't hit her. In fact, I found the guy that hit her and I hit him."

Howie sized Elliot up for a moment. "You were being mean to her."

As if he wasn't floundering under the weight of his own guilt, Elliot felt it pile on at Howie's statement. "We were having an argument. But it was all worked out later, Howie."

Howie shook his head and broke eye contact, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. "No, it wasn't. She was crying. You made her cry."

His first instinct was to pound Howie. But he couldn't. He'd actually gotten Howie to admit something new. Elliot drew in a slow, shaky breath, being careful not to upset the man who knew more than he was letting on. "Who's Maggie?"

Howie's eyes widened, fixing on Elliot's once again. But he said nothing.

Elliot leaned in. "Where's Maggie, Howie?"

Howie smiled and folded his hands in his lap. "She's somewhere safe where you'll never be able to hurt her again."


	34. T Minus 1 Day, part 4

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

Elliot couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't hide his reaction either. His jaw dropped open. His eyes searched Howie's. And rather than his typical, well-ingrained, police-trained response, Elliot felt tears prick his eyes. "You have her?"

Howie's smile faded as his eyes widened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The tears started to spill over. "Did you hurt her?"

Howie looked away and didn't answer.

Elliot reached out, his hands locking around Howie's collar. "Did you hurt her?"

Then there were hands on him, pulling him away. He fought them, twisting and pushing, desperate to get something more out of Howie. But there were several pairs of hands and he couldn't fight them all.

"He has her! He just admitted it!" Even though he was clearly losing as the men pulled him backwards, he continued to struggle, hoping he'd get a hand free so he could renew his attack. "He has Liv, damn it!"

Cragen stepped in front of him, pulling the door shut so Elliot couldn't even see Howie anymore. "You need to calm down."

Full of fury and frustration and anger, Elliot's adrenaline rush gave him the strength to pull free for a moment, during which he lunged forward and tried to grab for the door. When Cragen continued to block his path, Elliot leaned down into his face. "Fuck you!"

Cragen snarled and narrowed his eyes, glaring back at Elliot with a venom few of the cops present had ever seen. "Back off, detective!"

With a primal, animalistic yell, Elliot slammed his fist into the wall. The plaster cracked and buckled under his assault, giving in just as his hand did. The rage was keeping the pain at bay, but he knew he'd done some damage. The bullpen was eerily silent as Elliot turned and stormed away, his bloodied fist hanging limply at his side. People were staring at him, but he didn't care.

Howie had her. He fucking had her. And Elliot still couldn't get to her.

He stormed up to the crib, needing to blow off steam before he really did kill Howie. He couldn't kill the man until they found Liv. He shoved through the door and moved to sit down on one of the cots. For the first time he realized that whenever he chose to sleep there, he always chose the same bed and that was the same bed that Olivia always opted to use. It brought a smile to his face. He didn't know if it was because they just instinctively felt comfortable in the same area of the room or if perhaps it was more than that, maybe a deeper urge to connect somehow. He shook his head, decided that being without Olivia too long had made him so insane as to wax philosophical, and swore he would never tell anyone that he'd become so pathetic.

Even so, he sat down on their bed, the same one she'd been lying on that fateful day when he'd found her there, touching herself, thinking of him. The idea, the memory, sent a rush of heat through his body that settled uncomfortably in his groin. He forced it out of his mind. Work was not the place for such things – real or imagined. He closed his eyes and counted to ten about thirty times and was no calmer for it.

His eyes shifted, finding the wall a few feet away where he'd shoved Olivia. There was nothing there, of course, no lingering signs of what had happened. He'd already known that. He'd already gone there looking for her. But he still thought there should be some indication of the Earth-shattering event that had taken place there. Maybe her handprints burned into the wall. Maybe some ghostly reflection of their bodies hovering in the air between the beds. Maybe a glass box like the one they put around the pillow Lincoln died on so that no one would ever disturb that consecrated space.

Something. It deserved something.

His eyes dropped down to the floor beside him, practically able to see her body wrapped in his where they'd collapsed on the ground. He could remember those precious seconds, while his body recovered from the physical rush, when she'd rested peacefully in his arms, his body still connected to hers in the most intimate of ways.

There were tears in his eyes when he looked up, finding the place where he'd kissed her so thoroughly, where she'd agreed to talk to him, where they'd found a blissful moment of intimacy after the sex, the moment that assured them that it hadn't simply been anger and attraction. After everything they'd been through together, they'd found that moment of holding each other and enjoying the knowledge that their bond would remain intact, would actually become stronger, after giving into the physical desire. They'd deserved that much. They'd deserved that night sitting in a diner and drinking bad coffee and sharing a two week old piece of apple pie. They'd deserved to walk home together that night and share a tender kiss, perhaps even share a bed in a sweet, chaste embrace following the roughness of the evening.

But they hadn't gotten the chance. Those precious moments, those first few hours of their deepened relationship, those irreplaceable chances to open up to one another, had been stolen from them.

By Howie. By the son of a bitch who sat in the interrogation room, claiming to be confused by Elliot's questions. And Elliot was supposed to sit there and wait. While Olivia sat somewhere, hurt and scared and injured and alone and who knew what else.

He'd waited a week.

Fuck waiting.

He was done waiting.

Reaching for the doorknob, he realized his hand was seriously injured. It was already swollen to the point where it didn't quite resemble a hand any longer and was mottled with purple spots. It was a curiosity because he was used to large bruises. He didn't know quite what to make of his hand, except that he fully expected someone to be quite thoroughly disappointed in him. He really hoped it would be Olivia.

With that thought in mind, he returned to the bullpen. Fin was there, waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He nodded as Elliot descended the stairs. "Cragen's waiting on Casey, hoping for a warrant."

"But we can arrest him and print him in the meantime, right? I mean, fuck, he admitted he has her."

Fin shrugged nervously, hesitating by Elliot's side, obviously expecting him to charge the interrogation room at any moment. "Well, Huang's in there now."

"So?" Elliot stepped in the direction of the interrogation room, but Fin stepped into his path. "Huang can talk to him after we get his prints."

Fin grimaced. "He kind of went a little psycho after you left. He started shaking and wailing about keeping Maggie safe."

Elliot's eyes narrowed. "He thinks Olivia is Maggie. He's got her. There's no way of knowing where she is. Even after we get his prints and his real name, what are the odds she's sitting in his living room? Maybe she's always wanted to run off and change her name to Maggie."

"Come on, man," Fin shrugged, letting Elliot know they were on the same side about beating the answers out of Howie. "He's not going to tell us anything if he's in a padded cell at Bellevue, right?"

"So he's crazy now? He wasn't crazy in school or at home or at the library or wherever the fuck he works. He wasn't crazy when he lied about knowing Olivia. He wasn't crazy when he led us all over the fucking town trying to lose us so we couldn't follow him to Liv, but now we have him dead-to-rights, now he's a fucking nutjob?"

"I saw him. He was really freaking out about Maggie. I don't think he's faking." Fin went back to his desk, keeping a close eye on Elliot in case he needed to run interference.

Elliot walked over to Fin, leaning in his face. "This is Liv we're talking about. That fucker's got her stashed somewhere playing house. Who's side are you on?"

Fin nodded. "Trust me. When you're breakdown that door to find her, I'll be right behind you."

"Hey guys! I hear you've got something for me." Casey dropped her briefcase by Cragen's office. "You think you've got the guy?"

Elliot nodded. "Huang's in there now, probably giving the guy a free pass."

With a frown, Casey turned to Cragen who was just emerging from his office. "Why don't you people ever call me before you hand someone a psych defense?"

Cragen glared at Elliot and then at Casey. "They guy isn't right in the head. We didn't hand him anything."

Elliot headed for Cragen, only remembering in the nick of time that his hand wouldn't survive another hit. "That son of a bitch admitted he has Olivia. What the fuck are we doing just standing around?"

Casey's eyes widened as she looked around. "He admitted to taking her?"

"Yeah." Elliot stared at Casey, daring her to look at Cragen who was clearing his throat.

But the older man spoke up anyway. "What we actually have is a man who claims that Maggie is somewhere safe."

"He brought up Maggie?" Casey still seemed excited.

"Elliot asked about Maggie." Cragen's gaze dropped, as disappointed in the answer as everyone else.

Casey sighed loudly. "Do you have anything else?"

Elliot and Fin stared at her, her disappointment upsetting to both of them. Cragen shook his head. "He was overly interested in Olivia when they met and has been jerking us around ever since she disappeared."

Elliot narrowed his eyes, shoving things around on his desk until he found the enlarged photos of Howie following Olivia. "We have him stalking her. When we ask him about her, he pretends he doesn't know what we're talking about. And when I asked about Maggie, he says that he's keeping her safe from me."

Curiosity crossed Casey's face as she looked around the faces of the men around her. Finally she stared at Elliot, smiling as she did. "How exactly does someone keep Olivia safer than with you?"

Flattered and embarrassed by the comment, Elliot fought to keep his face neutral and give the impression that he was brushing it off. "You got me."

Her smile faded as she looked at the pictures. "It's not enough. This only shows that he was around her. If you go by that, Elliot, you were stalking her too."

Elliot grabbed the pictures back, throwing them angrily at his desk. "So we have nothing. Never mind the fact that we have the asshole who took her, we have nothing. That's just fucking great. Remind me to tell Olivia how fucking helpful you've been when I find her." He threw himself down in his chair, dropping his face into his hands and feeling more helpless than ever.

Casey saw his reaction, actually wincing at the image he presented. She looked at Cragen, lowering her voice considerably. "Is he ok?"

Cragen shrugged. "How would you feel if someone kidnapped your best friend and you couldn't do a damn thing about it?"

"Give me a call if you get anything on this Howie guy. Anything. I'll call in every favor I have to get a warrant for you." Casey's shoulders were hanging when she left.

Clearing his throat, Cragen turned to his detectives. "All right, what else do we have?"

Munch shook his head. "The prints on the dumpster came up empty. Avery was the only interesting thing we found."

Fin shrugged. "I'll call O'Halloran. See if he came up with anything on the library sweep."

Lake nodded toward the interrogation room. "I'll go check in on Huang."

Cragen nodded, appreciating everyone's attempt to help. On his way back to his office, his hand fell on Elliot's shoulder. "We're going to get him."

A few minutes later, Fin retrieved the fax he'd been waiting for. "All right, we finally got a good list of names to check from the library." It was several pages long, so he distributed the pages around.

Cragen emerged from his office, taking a few pages to search for himself. "Get to work people. Howie's real name has to be in here somewhere."

Munch looked up from his list. "Spending a night running background checks on brown-nosing future engineers. Just how I like spending my days."

Elliot looked up from his list, narrowing his eyes at Munch. "Maybe we should just move on. You know, it's been a week. How about we just forget about Olivia altogether?"

Chastised, Munch looked down. "That's not what I was saying."

Fin jumped in, hoping to break it up before Elliot went after Munch. "We've got a hell of a lot of names here. How about we put off killing each other until we find this shithead's real name?"

Lake shook his head and started typing. "All right, Kenneth Anderson, what are you hiding?"

"Maybe Neil Henry knows something." With a grin, Fin sat down across from his partner to start his own list.

Elliot looked at his list, too exhausted to even hope Michael Lanshaw had anything to do with it.

"Ok, so maybe I've got the lucky list." He shifted his mouse around on the desk, bringing his computer back from its nap. "Ruskinowicz, Douglas H. Who are you, really?"

Elliot's head jerked up. "Douglas Ruskinowicz? Why do I know that name?"

Cragen let out a low chuckle. "You recognize that? I was a rookie. Were you old enough to talk?"

Elliot shook his head. "It sounds familiar. I don't know why."

Munch stared at the list, searching his memory. "Doesn't ring a bell." He looked to Fin and Lake, both of whom shrugged.

Cragen explained himself, why he knew the name. "It was one of those horrible cases that gets all the attention. Little boy, abused by his parents, eventually abandoned."

Elliot tried to think of it, tried to remember something about it. "I still don't remember anything about it. Just the name."

"I think he was about four or five. Neighbors went over to see if something was wrong since they all just disappeared. They found a little girl, dead in her bed, beaten to death by her father." Cragen shook his head, still easily able to remember the specifics of a crime that was so old simply because it had been so awful. "Douglas was curled up with her, trying to keep her warm."

Fin turned to his computer, looking up the name that Munch was supposed to be searching. "What's the spelling on Ruskinowicz?" Munch started reading out the letters one at a time.

Elliot looked up, stopping him at the N. "What did you say his middle name was again?"

Munch paused, deciding to go with Elliot rather than continuing with the spelling. "Doesn't say what the H stands for."

"Shorten Douglas to D."

Cragen looked over Elliot's shoulder, seeing what Elliot had written on his notebook. "And then switch the first and middle initials."

Fin started to smile. "So if the H stands for Howard, we find Howie Druskin."

Elliot finally turned to his computer, waking it up from its lengthy nap. It was still sitting where he'd left it the previous day when he'd been working on the list of names from the dumpster. Munch had taken it from him and completed it, but neither of them had ever checked the last name Elliot had meant to search. The cursor was still blinking at the end of the name he'd typed in and never actually searched. Douglas Ruskinowicz.

No wonder the name sounded familiar. He wanted to scream at the fact that he'd wasted a whole day, a day that Olivia spent scared and helpless, a day that Elliot could have spent finding her. If only he hadn't been so damn easily distracted by anything that looked like a lead. He should have kept focused on real police work, which obviously would have led them in the right direction sooner.

He looked up at Cragen. "He was there. His prints were on the dumpster."

"He's following her and his prints are on that dumpster. Should be enough for a warrant. I'll get Casey back here." Cragen made a beeline for his office.

"Jesus Christ!" Fin's shout made everyone jump. His eyes met Elliot's though, burning with fire. "Guess what the girl's name was?"

Elliot's throat was dry, leaving his voice sounding like a croak. "Maggie."

Munch stood up, moving to look over Fin's shoulder as though he didn't believe it.

Fin smiled. "I've got a home address too." He nodded at Elliot. "What do you say we're outside when Casey gets that warrant signed?"

Elliot jumped to his feet. "I'm right behind you."


	35. T Minus 1 Day, part 5

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

Hours. Hours had gone by. Elliot and Fin had spent hours in the car outside Douglas H. Ruskinowicz's brownstone. Casey was tied up in court and Cragen told them to wait. Fin was antsy, shifting around uncomfortably, itching to get inside and do something. Anything.

Elliot was shaking. He was staring at the front door, certain that he was mere yards away from Olivia, and yet he had to sit there. Munch had continued to run the background on him, reporting that while the parents had never returned to claim their living child, they had resurfaced several years after Maggie's death, having been killed in a car wreck. Their house was left to their son, the only living heir, and was signed over to him on his eighteenth birthday, along with a considerable bank account. Ruskinowicz had never held a job and his school records were sketchy. Munch was expounding on how the kid had fallen through the cracks in the system and wound up being a wacko and therefore their problem.

Elliot hung up on him. He wasn't going to have any mercy on Howie or Douglas or whoever the fuck he was.

Fin glanced over at him, trying and failing to hide the smirk on his face for Elliot's response to Munch's excuses. "Cracks in the system, my ass."

Nodding, Elliot sighed. "Yeah, cry me a river."

"So let's do something about it." Fin reached for the door handle.

Elliot didn't even care what Fin was going to do. He was just glad that Fin was going to do something. He jogged a few steps to catch up. "What do you have in mind?"

"Casey's tied up in court, but we know we're getting that warrant, right?" Fin shrugged. "So what difference does it make if we go in and get her before we get the warrant?"

"No kicking the door then?" Elliot faked a frown. The idea of going in to get Olivia was the best thought he'd entertained in a long time.

"Yeah, I know, that's my favorite part too."

They circled the house first, searching through all the windows, praying to find something that would constitute probable cause. It wasn't that either of them particularly took issue with bending the rules to get to Olivia; it was that probable cause would give them the perfect opportunity to kick in the door after all.

Coming up empty, they carefully climbed the stairs to the front door. Elliot kept watch for anyone who might see them. Fin pulled a small package out of his pocket, revealing the lock pick kit that he always carried. When he saw it, Elliot let out a laugh.

Fin just shrugged as he plugged the tools into the lock. "Never know when I might need these. That's why I'm always prepared."

"Liv made some comment about you being a boy scout a few years back. I think I finally figured out what she meant." At the time, he'd thought it was simply a joke. But Elliot wasn't really surprised Olivia knew something about Fin that few others did. She had a way of getting people to open up, prying information out of them without them even knowing it.

The two men were silent for a moment as Fin worked the two tools inside the lock. When the knob turned easily in his hand, he put his tools away and looked back at Elliot. "If he's got an alarm in here, I'll meet you back at the precinct."

Elliot nodded. "I don't think we have to worry." He indicated the window frames that were rotting. "His parents took off forty years ago. I'd be surprised if anything's been done to this place since."

Fin took a deep breath, gently pushing the door open. Silence greeted them. The shades were drawn tight, leaving the house pitch dark even in the daylight. There was a stale, musty smell nearly overpowering that made it seem as though no one had set foot inside in years. He cautiously took two steps inside, shining a small flashlight around to display a furnished room.

Elliot stepped inside, closing the door behind them, assuring a little bit of secrecy. His hand brushed a side table which sent a cloud of dust flying into the air. "Not much of a housekeeper, is he?"

"Neither am I." Fin grimaced as he inspected the ornate couch in the middle of the room. It was covered with dust so thick he couldn't even figure out what color it was. "Damn, I don't think anyone's been here in a long time, Elliot."

Refusing to be dissuaded, Elliot took point. "Maybe he doesn't stay here. Maybe he's just got Olivia locked up in here while he's living it up downtown."

"This is his legal address, but would you want to live in the house your sister died in?" Fin shrugged and followed Elliot. "The girl was dead in her bed, right? If he thinks Olivia is Maggie-"

"We'll try upstairs first." Elliot crossed the room in two long strides, reaching out for the banister.

But Fin grabbed his arm, shining his light across the steps in explanation. "Nobody's gone up there in years, El."

He had to admit Fin had a point. Not only was there a thick layer of dust covering the stairs and banister, but giant cobwebs hung across the open space. "Split up. See what you can find." As sure as they were that a warrant would be forthcoming, he knew their time was limited. Unless they both wanted to get busted for breaking and entering, they needed to hurry up.

Of course, he hoped that they'd find Olivia and could then make up some bullshit story about hearing her call for help.

Fin headed toward the dining room. Elliot went in the opposite direction, tripping down three steps that left him in a family room of sorts. Provided said family was headed by child abusers and three of the four were dead. He leaned in close to examine the portraits on the wall. Some were professional, some were candids. They could have been any family. Hell, they could have been his own childhood pictures, minus a few kids. Dad was tall, brown eyes, sandy hair. Mom was tall too, green eyes, dark hair. Howie was very young, no more than three, childish exuberance obvious in the way he was held still in his sister's lap. He looked a lot like his father, the same brown eyes and sandy hair. In fact, Elliot would have been able to identify him from that picture as he hadn't changed a bit except to grow taller in the intervening years.

But when his eyes shifted up to Maggie, his breath caught in his throat. One glance was all it took for a few more of the pieces to fall into place. Maggie was a few years older than her brother, maybe six or seven. She was already lanky, the almost gawky expanse of arm peeking out from beneath the lace sleeve of her dress revealing that she would have surely grown into a considerable height for a woman. Her legs were crossed and folded in what might have been a delicate, sweet pose on a shorter child, where as Maggie just looked uncomfortable, as though her long legs were meant to be stretched out. Her grip was tight on her brother, probably forcing him to put up with interminable shots and poses at the photographer's urging. Elliot had endured several of those sessions over the years and almost always wound up with very expensive pictures of at least one kid crying and two scowling. Yet, as tight as her hold was, her hands appeared soft and gentle where they fell on her brother's skin.

He heard Fin calling him, a strained whisper trying to get his attention. Elliot was transfixed. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. His eyes were locked on hers.

Maggie's deep brown stare held him to the spot. He knew those eyes. That same beautiful color, that same bright gaze, that same well-hidden pain. The smile was the same too, wide and hopeful and forced. The poor girl was faking a happy, carefree childhood. But it wasn't just that he'd seen the same expression on Olivia's face a hundred times.

It was that Maggie was a dead ringer for Olivia.

"Fuck, Elliot, is that-"

Elliot nodded, breaking out of the trance he was in. "Olivia or Maggie? You tell me."

"Damn, no wonder Howie freaked out." Fin stepped closer, examining the portrait as though he was searching for some evidence it was fake. "Olivia wasn't adopted, was she?"

"No. And she wasn't beaten to death by her father either." Elliot bristled at the suggestion, at his own words. Because Olivia hadn't been beaten to death by her father. But that didn't mean Olivia hadn't somehow been made into some sort of sacrifice in an attempt to get Maggie back. There was no telling what Howie had done.

"But still-"

And then there was a spark of hope in him. "He loved her, right? He curled up and tried to keep her safe or whatever."

Fin nodded, following Elliot's line of thought. "Howie thought you hurt her. He said he was keeping her safe from you."

Elliot dared to let a real smile form. "If he loved Maggie so much, maybe he hasn't hurt Olivia."

"Maybe he's just protecting her." Fin nodded toward the other room. "You should come see this."

Knowing better, yet unable to stop himself, Elliot snagged one of the framed photos of the kids. He shoved it into his pocket and then hurried after Fin. "What did you find?"

Fin led him to the kitchen. The floor, although dirty, was hardly dust covered. The counters had crumbs and new appliances and a damp sponge. He pulled open the fridge, showing the half stocked contents. The table had recent mail and a two day old newspaper piled on one side.

"He lives in the kitchen?" Elliot didn't know what to make of it, besides the fact that Olivia clearly wasn't sitting there.

"Check this out." Fin pointed to a stack of books on one of the chairs. On top was "Kitchens and Bathrooms, Do It Yourself For Less." He shuffled the stack, showing a few more of the same sort, two on brick pointing and mortar work, and a couple random science textbooks. "This guy's a freak."

Elliot's eyes stayed on the top book, trying to reconcile it with what he knew of Howie. "He really doesn't seem like the home repair type."

Fin shrugged and lifted it, dropping it on the table and allowing it to fall open to the most used page. With a snicker, he shook his head. "I'd call a damn plumber for that shit."

The dog-eared pages were instructions on installing a toilet. Although the ridiculous stick figure on the side margin of the page indicted that adding a powder room was a great way to increase the value of one's home, something about it really bothered Elliot. He glanced at Fin, who'd moved on to exploring another room just off the kitchen. "The only time I'd consider doing my own plumbing would be if I didn't want anyone to know what I was doing."

Fin was staring at something just around the door frame. "Which might also explain why you'd install a god-damned vault."

"What?" Elliot rounded the corner and came to a dead stop. He was staring at a steel door, not the kind used on houses, but a solid steel door. Along the left hand side were a series of locks – chains, sliders, deadbolts.

"What do you think he's got in there?" Fin said it with a smile, as though he was calmed by the idea of them being so close. "It's probably the only way to keep Olivia from escaping."

But Elliot found no reassurance in it. He only saw another barrier, another reason he couldn't get to her. He raised his hands, paying no attention to the damage he'd already done to his left, and slammed them against the unyielding door. Nothing happened, not that he expected it would, but he did it again anyway. The unbelievable pain in his hand felt like nothing next to the emotional ache.

Fin saw it, the swollen purple mass that used to be a hand, and realized that Elliot was perhaps not in the best psychological state of his life. "Hey, come on, you're not going to get in there."

He didn't hear Fin. He didn't feel it when Fin grabbed at his arms, trying to keep him from hurting himself. But the physical pain was sapping his strength and he fell against the door, his face pressing against the cool steel. "Olivia!" He struck at the door again with his right hand, finding no give at all. "Olivia!"

Fin's eyes went wide, looking around like IAB would appear out of thin air. "Fuck, Elliot, knock it off!"

"Olivia!" He kept pounding, shouting, as Fin wrestled with him.

Normally Fin wouldn't have been able to win, but Elliot's energy was focused on getting to Olivia, not on wining a fight. Fin managed to pull him away, getting between him and the door, shoving him backwards all the way back to the front door.

"Liv!" He wasn't even screaming anymore, just crying, sobbing, as Fin continued shoving him outside.

"We have to get the hell out of here. The neighbors might have heard you." Fin pulled him down the stairs, shoving him roughly into the car. "Jesus, Elliot, you want him to have a case against us? He'll hire some mouthpiece to say he's being unfairly treated and he'll get to skate and you'll never see her again. Is that what you want?"

Elliot tried to get up, tried to get back out of the car. "No! I won't leave her." He was hysterical, something that he normally might have been embarrassed to display in front of Fin. "Liv!"

"Shit, Elliot, shit. I didn't know you were going to freak out like this. Shut up before you get both our asses hauled in!" Fin was still working on getting Elliot far enough into the car to shut the door, but Elliot wasn't having it.

"Fuck you! Run away! I don't care what you do, but you can't make me leave her." He pushed at Fin, forgetting until too late that he could actually feel pain and that the pain of hitting Fin with his left hand would be unbearable. The excruciating sensation stopped him long enough for Fin to slam the door shut.

Fearing that Elliot would hop out of the car, Fin ran to the driver's side, threw the car into gear and peeled out.

A few miles later, Elliot turned his sullen, despondent glare on Fin. "Where the fuck are you going?"

Fin kept his snarl facing out the windshield as he continued arguing with himself as to whether or not he should check Elliot into Bellevue as a danger to himself and others. Fin had no problem knocking a few teeth out if someone really deserved it, but until Elliot had lost it once again, Fin hadn't realized how unglued Elliot really was. He finally answered, only because he was afraid he'd get blindsided with an attack if he didn't. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

Elliot didn't say a word. He'd been threatened so many times that someone would check him into the psych ward. It wasn't new to him. But the scary fact was that he'd always been so sure the other person was wrong. He'd never truly lost control. He'd never faced being unable to stop himself if he wanted. He'd never faced anything like the previous week, even the days before Olivia had been taken.

He didn't try to defend himself. He was pretty damn sure Fin was right.


	36. Zero Hour, part 1

T Minus 6 Hours

T Minus 6 Hours

Elliot hated hospitals. He hated everything about them. He hated the brightly lit hallways. He hated being sick. He hated other sick people. He hated the antiseptic stench of the rooms. He hated the stiff, rough sheets on the black plastic mattresses. He hated the hard plastic chairs. He hated the person who thought bright orange would be a nice soothing shade for hospital waiting rooms. He hated the doctors and nurses. He hated the janitors who walked around incredibly slowly, peeking into rooms as they mopped or emptied trash cans as though they enjoyed being around sick people. He hated the hideously long amount of time he spent waiting, since his self-flagellation didn't merit as much attention as the ten car pile-up on the George Washington Bridge.

And he really hated the snarky glare on Fin's face which hinted that Fin would be exacting revenge on Elliot at some point in the future for making him sit in the hospital too.

He wanted to voice his appreciation that Fin had brought him there instead of Bellevue. But he couldn't make the words come out, since he was pissed off over being at a hospital in the first place. Especially because the anger was mostly directed at himself for fucking up his hand rather than at Fin for making him get it fixed.

T Minus 3 Hours

With the accident victims treated, Elliot had gotten as far as into an exam room. The nurse asked the general, prying questions. She looked at his hand, seeming, at least to Elliot, to find some amusement in prodding the swollen flesh. She used an irritating baby voice to tell him that they were very busy, but that the doctor would be in as soon as possible.

He ignored her directions to change into the gown, opting to sit on the stretcher and stare at the wall. He was pleased to be away from Fin's condescending face for a few minutes.

T Minus 2 Hours

The doctor, although Elliot was pretty sure he was just there for "Take Your Adolescent to Work" Day, issued stern warnings repeatedly about how clearly Elliot needed to relax. It was only after Elliot unhappily accepted two spa recommendations, as well as a lecture on how he shouldn't feel uncomfortable because lots of men enjoyed the refreshing getaways at nearby spas, that the doctor sent him for some x-rays. It was a waste of time, he'd declared, because Elliot's hand was obviously broken, but he did it anyway.

A half hour later, the doctor returned and said that Elliot's hand was broken in three places, holding the x-ray to the fluorescent overhead light, he showed Elliot how the metacarpals that formed the base of his first three fingers were fractured. With a disappointed sigh, the doctor told him that it was really far too swollen at that point to really do much with it. So Elliot endured the misery of having the doctor and a pair of nurses maneuver his hand onto a splint and then wrap it tightly with an elastic bandage. It hurt like hell, but he wasn't gong to ask for any pain meds. He was simply in too much of a hurry to get back to work, to return to Howie's house, to find Olivia.

He listened with half an ear while the doctor referred him to an orthopedist should he want to avoid permanent damage, especially since it was too swollen to examine thoroughly. It was his left hand, so Elliot didn't really care. On his list of priorities, Olivia took the top five million spots at that moment.

T Minus 1 hour

Struggling to button his sleeve around the splint, Elliot found his way to the waiting room. By the time he found Fin, he'd given up on his shirt and was working instead on getting his blazer over his splint. He figured if he was going to be allowed to keep working, he needed to hide the evidence of his injury.

Fin was pacing back and forth, moving his phone from one hand to the other. He started for the door as soon as he saw Elliot, paying no attention to Elliot's issues with his coat. "Finally."

Preoccupied with his sleeve, he fell behind. He shoved his arm through it, tearing the lining and jarring his hand within the splint. It hurt more than he remembered and he supposed he deserved it. He jogged a few feet to fall in step beside Fin. "Sorry."

Fin looked at him out the corner of his eye. "I wasn't going to tell you this because I think you really should go home and knock yourself out with some painkillers."

Elliot's eyes were immediately riveted to Fin's face. "What?" He didn't have time to issue the threat.

Fin held up his hands in surrender. "I figured I wouldn't survive it." He shook his phone. "Casey got the warrant."

For a moment, Elliot couldn't move or think. He was truly dumbfounded. The new poster boy for flabbergasted. He simply stood there, staring, his mouth hanging slightly open. As sure as he'd been that they would get the warrant, he couldn't believe that it was theirs. They had every right to go back to Howie's house and tear it apart, to take that steel vault door right off the hinges, to find Olivia, to bring her home. Finally, he swallowed hard and tried to clear his throat.

"Did they go in? Did they find her?" He'd been in the emergency room for hours. For all he knew, Olivia could have been found and was sitting at the precinct or home or even somewhere in the same hospital.

Nodding, Fin started walking again. "They're in there, turning the place upside down. Munch was all freaked out by the pictures of Maggie."

"Did they get in that door?" He didn't know why they'd even bother with the rest of the house that obviously hadn't seen traffic since some time in the 60s.

"They've got ESU in there working on it."

As they climbed in the car, Elliot thought about all the home improvement books that had been piled up. "ESU? How well installed could it be if the dumbass did it himself?"

Fin shrugged, driving at an excessively fast speed, knowing it still wasn't fast enough for Elliot. "Munch said something about a bomb shelter. Psycho parents must have had it installed."

The car's wheels were still turning when Elliot jumped out. He heard Fin's curse when he realized his passenger had jumped ship. But his feet didn't slow down as he ran for the front door, not stopping to look if cars were coming when he crossed the street, barely pausing long enough to flash his badge at the officers blocking the door. He headed straight for the kitchen, shoving through the group standing around as they pawed through Howie's belongings.

Cragen and Munch were standing in the doorway, as close as ESU would let them get while they were cutting through the door. Munch nodded at him. Cragen held up his hand, trying to prevent Elliot from shoving past and yelling at the ESU.

"They're working as fast as they can, Elliot."

Common sense told him that he wasn't going to get anywhere starting a fight with the other men there or using his fists to reason with the damn door again. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it since his common sense had been remarkably lacking in the previous few days. He nodded, swallowing back the urge to scream. "What's taking so long?"

Cragen motioned at the door. "Six inches of steel, Elliot, and it extends the entire length of this wall."

Munch waggled his eyebrows. "And people call me paranoid."

"According to the blueprints, this should lead to the basement." Cragen shrugged at the plans rolled up in his hands. "The parents filed for permits to build a bomb shelter in 1961. They never completed the paperwork, but it would appear that they went ahead and built it anyway."

Elliot sighed. "And to think they seemed like such an upstanding, law-abiding family."

"How's the hand?" Cragen nodded at Elliot's splint which stuck out in its glaring whiteness against the gray of his suit coat.

"It's fine." He didn't go into details. He hadn't been listening all that closely when the doctor was talking to him.

Munch jumped in, sensing Elliot didn't want to discuss the hand he'd fucked up in a fit of temper. "We figured out why Howie went after Olivia, though."

Elliot turned to Munch, his first thought to ask him why anyone cared while a god damn vault still stood between them and finding out if Olivia was ok. He glanced in Munch's direction, not bothering to focus on the photograph the other man was holding. "Because she looks like Maggie."

Munch's confusion was evident as he turned to Cragen. Cragen's brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. "Exactly how do you know that?"

Realizing he'd just given himself away, he bit his lip and tried to think of an excuse. "Why else would he kidnap her?"

Cragen and Munch looked at one another, neither quite believing the lie, neither one calling him on it. But Munch couldn't hold back a flippant remark. "Uh, maybe cause he's nutty as a fruitcake?"

Elliot was saved from having to respond by a loud shout from the ESU team. They'd gotten through enough of the door that it was starting to lean, causing them no end of trouble in continuing to cut. They were calling for help supporting the weight so they could finish the job.

But Elliot didn't see the group of guys who were helping. He didn't see Munch and Cragen moving to help shoulder the weight of the steel. He didn't see the considerable stretch of steel that remained to be cut.

He saw a narrow opening into the blackness behind the door. He wasn't the skinniest man around; Munch certainly would have had an easier time of it. But Elliot wasn't about to let a chance to pass him by. He pushed past the men, squeezing himself through the opening. Had he given anyone a chance to stop him, they might have pointed out that he didn't actually know what lay on the other side of the door. They might have cautioned him that he was about to plunge headfirst into a stairwell.

Through some stroke of luck, he managed to catch his footing and grab hold of the rickety banister with his right hand. Muffled curses followed him for a moment, followed by the faint, familiar sound of Cragen's voice. He must have warned them off because he didn't hear anymore complaints. Not that it would have mattered.

"Olivia!" The door wasn't soundproof, so she should have been able to hear him screaming for her earlier. He tried to rationalize that she must have answered him, but that he'd been hysterical and continued screaming and therefore hadn't heard her. "Olivia!" He decided she was unable to reply for some reason.

He ran his hand along the wall, finding the light switch and turning it on. It did little to chase away the darkness, a faint spread of light emanating from the bottom of the steps, barely illuminating them with what couldn't have been more than a 15 watt bulb. He took his time on the steps, telling himself it wouldn't do to get himself killed seconds prior to finding her.

When he reached the bottom of the steps, he realized there was nothing at all wrong with the lighting. In fact, the low ceiling held several lights mere inches above his head, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from the bright bulb. There were several other spotlights set in the beams of the ceiling and under any other circumstances, it would have been brighter than day.

Except that the decorating had clearly been left to Howie. And just as Elliot would have suspected had he taken the time to think about it, the basement looked exactly like Howie the library rat had designed it. Elliot was looking at books. Lots of books. Hundreds. Thousands. Probably millions. While he wasn't sure he'd know what a million of anything looked like, Elliot was pretty sure he was staring at millions upon millions of books.

They were stacked floor to ceiling, wall to wall, or so he assumed. There was only a narrow alley between the piles, piles which were so tall as to obscure anything behind them. Elliot followed the path, a maze winding around back under the stairs and into the corner. There, Elliot found a plush arm chair next to a reading lamp. A book lay open, face down, on the seat, as though Howie meant to return at any moment to continue reading.

He didn't even have the energy to scream. He'd expected to find Olivia bound, beaten, raped, desperate to see him, pissed as hell over the length of time it had taken to find her, maybe even dead. He didn't know what to do with a fucking reading nook, where Howie evidently walled himself up with all the books currently in print while he waited for the end time or the second coming or whatever it was he needed all those books for.

He didn't know how he'd keep going. He didn't honestly think he'd survive much longer. He didn't know how he could bear to listen to the perfunctory words of condolence from Munch and Fin and Cragen.

He turned around, somehow finding the strength to put one foot in front of the other, aiming for the stairs, thinking he could ask someone to shoot him and put him out of his misery. At the very least, he could simply tell them that he was acutely suicidal and have them lock him up someplace with the good drugs. The maze was harder to follow without a real desire to watch where he was going.

Rather than back at the foot of the stairs, he quickly realized there was another destination, another trail Howie had left for himself. He found himself in the laundry room, wondering with quite a lot of irritation if Howie really worried so much about what people thought of him as to do laundry. Elliot stared at the half empty box of Tide and the open, nearly full package of dryer sheets. Sure, he was familiar with them. Kathy had used them, swore by their ability to rid the universe of static. She even put them in the bottom of her drawers, telling him they kept everything smelling good.

But Elliot himself had never bought dryer sheets in his life. He hadn't even noticed anything lacking in his laundry since he'd moved out. He doubted most men cared about dryer sheets. It may have been a stupid thing for him to notice, but for whatever reason, the whole thought process made him stop to think for a moment, staring at the box, expecting it to explain itself.

And then he noticed the folded clothes next to the box. At first glance, it was nothing special. Something khaki, a color he was sure could accurately describe about half of the clothing manufactured in the history of the world. It wasn't even the khaki that caught his attention.

It was the small, slightly shiny green item sitting on top.

A stab of fear and hurt and recognition struck him. He'd seen them before.

Elliot had never really paid much attention to the colors of his clothes. But somewhere around twenty, Kathy had taken the tedious responsibility of shopping for his clothes from him. She'd bring him things, informing him that something was out of style or unflattering or just a good buy. Somewhere around twenty-five, he opened his closet and realized the vast majority of his shirts, be they dress shirts or t-shirts, were blue. He assumed it was her favorite color and thought he'd scored a hit when he bought her a blue sweater for her next birthday. She'd hated it, demanded that he exchange it for something else. So he'd questioned her and found out that she didn't like blue at all, except that she said it brought out his eyes and she loved seeing him in blue shirts.

When he'd first met Olivia, he hadn't paid much attention to her clothes. Noticing her clothes seemed like it might be a slippery slope into noticing what was under her clothes and so he just didn't think about it. On occasion, he'd see her in something particularly flattering and he'd remember it. There was a purple sweater she wore from time to time that fit her in such a way that he couldn't help but notice her. And there was a yellow tank top he'd caught her in once when they'd actually bumped into each other outside of work that she looked absolutely beautiful in. But a few years had gone by since he'd really noticed much of anything about what she wore until one day eight years into their partnership when Munch asked if they planned their clothing choices. It was then that he'd noticed over the years she'd taken to wearing blue all the time too. He'd never mentioned it, never dared draw attention to something he was sure was unconscious on her part, but he'd secretly adored the idea that she spent so much time with him that she started buying clothes that matched his.

And it had struck him in one single fraction of a second, when he had her pressed against the wall in the crib, as he was roughly yanking her pants down so that he could claim her body so harshly, when he saw the deep, forest green color of the panties he'd just pulled away from her, and realized that the color was absolutely striking against the tan of her skin. He wanted to tell her to wear it more often.

His hands reached out, forgetting entirely about the uselessness of his left, splinted hand, pulling the soft fabric through his fingers. The situation seemed terribly strange all of a sudden. The delicate feel of the fabric under his fingers, the various crashes and noise coming from the upper floors as the others continued searching the house, the eerie quiet of the dark basement. He started to wonder if he was dreaming. After a week of grasping at straws to find some tangible sign of his partner's whereabouts, just holding her panties in his hand felt unreal.

His eyes fell on the khaki item once again, finally recognizing it as the pair of pants Olivia was wearing the night she'd been taken. The memory of brutally ripping them off, shoving them down so he could force his way between her legs, came back even stronger. Even though he thought he'd come to grips with what had happened between them, he knew it would never really be settled, he would never really be settled, not until she told him that she was all right with it.

He remembered how she'd left him that night, furious at him for an imagined date with Dani, only a few minutes after he'd come inside her. He'd hurried her, forced her to get up, made her dress, demanded she follow him back to the office. He'd only meant for them to get out of there, away from work, so they could deal with what they'd done. But he hadn't given her any time, not to get herself together, not to clean up. The panties had been washed and dried, but a paranoid voice in his head convinced him that his semen might have survived, clinging to the fabric to give their physical relationship away when they were seized as evidence and examined.

He was doing it for Olivia, to protect her. That was what he repeated to himself as he shoved them deep into his pants pocket. He didn't want her reputation coming under fire because he hadn't been able to control himself. He refused to think about why Howie had chosen to wash her panties. He couldn't deal with the idea that Howie had pulled them from her unwilling body in the same manner as he had. He couldn't accept the idea that Howie might have gotten angry to discover recent evidence that she'd been with another man. He couldn't face the thought of the rape it appeared Olivia had faced.

Grabbing the pants with the idea that they were clean and wouldn't give anything away, he found his way back into the chaotic library. By the time he reached the stairs, Cragen and a few officers were spilling into the basement to search.

Nervous that his guilt regarding the piece of clothing in his pocket would show on his face, Elliot kept his eyes turned away from his boss. "Olivia was wearing these that night. She was here."

Cragen barely seemed to register the khakis in front of him as his face fell. "She was here? Meaning she's not here now?"

Elliot felt the air rush out of his lungs as suddenly as if he'd been sucker punched. He'd been so wrapped up in finding her clothes that he hadn't even stopped to realize she wasn't there. The hell of waiting to get through that door, suffering through the wait at the hospital, enduring the torture of the previous week – none of it had gotten him anywhere. If he'd known, if someone had told him that night when he'd realized she was gone, that seven days later would find him in some bastard's fire hazard of a bomb shelter with his only lead to her location being the freshly laundered pants in his hand, he wouldn't have bothered trying to survive. He wasn't sure he should keep trying. In fact, he was pretty sure he was going to ask Cragen to shoot him.

A loud, shrill ring sounded before Elliot had the chance to act on his idea. The unexpected sound caused him and almost everyone else in the basement to jump. Cragen's hands were clapped over his ears in a futile attempt to retroactively shield himself from the sound.

Elliot looked around at the baffled group. "What the fuck was that?"

Someone suggested that it was a broken doorbell. Someone else said that was ridiculous. Someone else pointed out that it wouldn't be hooked up in the basement. The first someone said it would be if the freak lived in his basement behind six inches of steel. Eventually Cragen sent one of them to check the doors.

As the officer was making his way back down the stairs, midway through his declaration that there was no one at the door, the sound came again. Longer. Then there was a pause, followed by another long shriek.

Elliot's mouth fell open as he looked up, looking between the interlocking pieces of wood supporting the ceiling, trying to locate the sound. It continued to come, at increasing intervals. By the time he found the box, by the time he started tracing the wire back from the box, by the time he'd declared it was obviously Olivia trying to get their attention, someone had found where the wire disappeared through the front wall of the house.

Cragen's disappointed sigh said it all, but he tried anyway. "We're going to find her, Elliot. He'll talk. We'll get him to tell us where she is."

Elliot shook his head, unable to accept disappointment, especially not a rapid succession of disappointments. He turned to Cragen, opening his mouth to insist that she was there despite all evidence to the contrary. But rather than the words he knew would fall on deaf ears, something else, something he hadn't even consciously thought of, fell out. "There are no windows down here."

"It's a bomb shelter, Elliot. Windows would defeat the purpose." Cragen was searching Elliot's face, looking for proof that he'd finally flipped his lid.

Elliot looked around, searching for some hint of natural light. "But there were windows – I saw basement windows-" He recalled seeing them when he and Fin had been peeking in them, hoping to catch sight of Olivia. "I saw them when I was coming in."

Luckily Cragen didn't seem to notice his hesitation. Unrolling the blueprints he'd been holding, he tried to find some sort of light to verify Elliot's words.

Elliot didn't wait for confirmation. He knew the windows were there. His eyes fixed on the front wall, right at the spot where the wire, the one responsible for the deafening noise that was almost constant, disappeared. It wasn't quite a foot from Howie's armchair. He grabbed the lamp and swung hard, as hard as he could with only one hand, bashing the base into the wall.

And to nearly everyone's surprise, a piece of the wall buckled.

Everyone started scrambling – some looking for something to break through the wall, some searching for the well concealed entrance. But Elliot didn't notice. He just kept swinging, adrenaline coursing through his veins and giving him all the strength he hadn't had in a week.

"Olivia!" He could feel the wood giving under his assault, but it wasn't folding fast enough. "Olivia! We're coming!" As they continued to break down the wall, Elliot barely noticed the buzzing had stopped.

He did notice, however, when the frenzied activity and the loud hum of voices abruptly stopped. He noticed the way the guys were looking at him. He noticed the way they'd backed up a bit. Beyond terrified at what he would see, he stepped forward, moving toward the wall, seeing the hole, unable to see through it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the hole they'd made, bent over at the waist so he could fit.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the dirty windows.

The first thing he saw was a metal ring, mortared right into the brick. And then he saw a pair of hands, dirty, bloodied, limp, handcuffed to the ring, inches away from what looked like a regular door bell button.

And then he realized he'd done it, he'd found her.

Right there, not ten feet away, gagged and crying and half naked with her eyes squeezed closed, was Olivia.

He turned back toward the opening, surprised at the steady sound of his own voice. "Call a bus."


	37. Zero Hour, part 2

Zero Hour, cont'd

Zero Hour, cont'd

The background noise faded away as he crossed the space to her side. He sank down to his knees, finding the catch on the ring easily and carefully lowering her arms to rest in her lap. Her hands felt cold to the touch, the skin pale. He wondered how long she'd been trapped like that, if any permanent damage had been done to her arms in that time. He shoved the thought from his mind, deciding that she'd been able to ring the buzzer to get their attention, realizing that it didn't really matter in the long run, not if she was safe in his arms.

The thought made him realize that she was there and she was alive and he finally had the chance to wrap his arms around her. He shifted off his knees, sitting down next to her, allowing his arms and legs to fold around her. It seemed almost surreal to be holding her, to feel her body warm and full of life against his. He felt as though they were coming full circle, with his body curling around hers, much the same way he had that fateful evening in the crib.

Sounds suddenly seemed to intrude on him, the voices of the other cops, the sounds of them searching for the door to the room for easier access. He was happy to have her with him in any condition, but as his hands and arms encircled her body, he knew she didn't want all those people, especially the ones she knew, looking at her exposed skin. Letting go of her long enough to take off his jacket felt like an eternity and he was glad once the coat was spread over her legs so that he could fold her back into his embrace.

It struck him that he should say something, anything, that might soothe her. As far as he could tell, she hadn't opened her eyes at all. He rationalized that she'd heard his voice when he was trying to get to her, that she knew his touch, his presence, from that of Howie. She hadn't said a word either, but she'd responded to him, burrowing her face into his neck, her hot tears falling against his skin. He'd never felt so alive, so moved, by anything.

His eyes darted around the dark room, taking in what he could as the rest of the officers worked to demolish a good chunk of the wall. He saw the toilet against the wall across from him, the shining plumbing a testament to Howie's home-improvement reading. The other thing that caught his eye was the banner hanging on the wall in the other direction, the gaudy, shiny letters spelling out a welcome message for Howie's long-dead sister.

His attention was drawn back to the hole in the wall, to the figures of the medics and Cragen entering the private space. Elliot looked up, knowing they were going to want access to Olivia. His arms tightened around her involuntarily. He knew she needed to be looked at. He knew he couldn't simply sit there with her forever. He knew she desperately wanted out of that miserable basement. But he wasn't ready to give her up yet. He wasn't sure he could make himself let go.

Cragen nodded at him, his eyes drifting over Olivia's body as though to assure himself that she was relatively all right or at least in one piece. He cleared his throat, pulling Elliot's nervous stare from the pair of medics. "Elliot, they're not able to get a stretcher down here. They need to examine her and see if she's capable of walking upstairs."

Elliot thought about it, turning the words over in his mind slowly, giving him more time to hold onto her. He was about to ask if it were possible for them to examine her while she was in his lap, but he wasn't sure stating the painfully obvious in front of Cragen was a good idea.

Before he got the chance to come up with an excuse, the medics crowded in. "Sir, we need to take a look at her."

Reluctantly, Elliot pulled away, shifting Olivia's weight back to the ground. His chin started to tremble as he climbed to his feet, only able to force himself back a few feet. In the interest of pride, he kept his face stubbornly turned away from Cragen. Not that it did any good. Having her back, seeing her, being close to her – it was all too new to give up so soon. Some part of him still believed it was a dream, like so many he'd had, and he just wanted to enjoy the sensation of having her in his arms while he could.

He kept a close watch over the shoulders of the medics as they went about poking her and asking her questions. She didn't answer them. She didn't even open her eyes. Tears continued to stream down her face, matched in their intensity by his own. But as the medics prodded at her, she started to tense, to shift away from their movements. And then she started to moan, her tortured voice croaking around the gag. He knew he should wait; he'd seen the torn skin from victims who'd had it ripped off by well-meaning Samaritans. But he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't listen to the way she was crying and not respond.

He reached out, trying his best to stay out of the way of the medics, and carefully worked the tape free from her mouth. She was already bleeding, her lips raw from the repeated abuse. He had to promise himself that she'd prefer the ability to speak to waiting for more care in removing the tape. He yanked the washcloth free from her mouth, watching the way she instinctively worked her jaw. She lifted her hands and he thought she might be attempting to soothe the hurt he'd caused by pulling off the tape.

But rather than curving toward her mouth, her hands moved out as she lifted them. Clearly using all of her strength, she was reaching out, her hands searching the air in front of her. For a moment, Elliot hesitated, thinking that perhaps she thought she was being assaulted again, that maybe keeping her eyes closed was causing her to be disoriented.

And then her crying increased in intensity, her sobs more pronounced without something stuffed in her mouth. She worked her jaw again, one single word escaping. "El!"

His heart broke in two. She wasn't disoriented. She knew exactly what was going on. She knew he was there. At least, she knew he had been. She knew he'd been holding her and then she knew he'd stopped.

Unable to resist her, despite the complaints of the medics and Cragen, Elliot shoved the men aside, sitting close beside her again, pulling her into his lap, holding her against his chest. "Everything's ok, Liv. You're fine." He cleared his throat as he choked up. His face turned down, pressing into her ear. "I won't leave you, baby."

She didn't say anything else, but her hands communicated for her. Although her arms were more or less limp in her lap again, her hands clawed at his shirt, clinging so tightly to the fabric that it seemed she was trying to poke holes in it with her nails. His arms stayed around her, trying to pull her close enough that she wouldn't fear he was leaving her again. But as he fought to keep her close, he felt her body moving, twisting, writhing. He shushed her, trying to comfort her as best he could while feeling completely unprepared for it. He felt the way she tried to force herself still, the way her muscles shook with the effort of fighting something that her body obviously wanted to do.

Her voice came back, starting as a low moan, a vibration he felt before he heard. But the sound quickly changed into loud sobs and screams. Her whole body was shaking, jerking against his and his arms worked to keep her still. He looked up at the medics, seeking an explanation for her unexpected response, her obvious pain, but they weren't looking.

"You're safe, Liv. I won't hurt you." He didn't know what else to do. He didn't know what to say, but he wanted to keep trying. He hoped his voice would provide her with some sort of comfort. "It's all over, Liv. I'll make it better, I promise." He felt his eyes filling with tears and he wanted to wipe them away. He didn't dare loosen his hold. He'd given up his dignity in the hopes of finding her several days earlier and he saw no point in trying to build it back up. He sniffled as he pressed his face into her hair. "I'd take it away if I could. You don't have to hurt anymore."

And then her voice, loud and clear and painfully revealing, filled the small room. "Please, El, please! Stop!" She sobbed and bucked against him as his arms fell limp. "Please, god, stop, El, please!"

With his whole body shaking, he realized what was going on, understood what no one else present could possibly know. She wasn't in hysterics because of her captivity and what Howie had done to her.

She was reliving the way he'd attacked her. She was reliving the violent way he'd raped her. She was begging for mercy in the way he hadn't been aware enough to even hear when he'd been hurting her.

His stomach heaved as he backed up, finding the wall behind him more capable of supporting his weight than his own legs. The medics moved in quickly, pulling up the sleeve of her shirt to stick a needle into her arm. Elliot watched, sickened by the thought that he'd really hurt her so badly that she was having flashbacks. He hated himself for it. He hated Howie for compounding what had obviously been a terribly traumatic experience for her.

But even as the medics sedated her, her hands moved weakly, stretching out toward where Elliot had stood the last time she'd reached for him. He wasn't sure what to do, not when she appeared to both want him and not want him near her at the same time.

The taller of the two medics looked at him. "Her shoulder is severely dislocated, sir. With it being positioned above her head for so long, the muscles have probably gone into spasm. That was probably why she was screaming."

Elliot barely had a chance to take in the idea before the other medic spoke, angling his head toward the main part of the basement. "There's no way to get a stretcher down here. We're going to have to carry her upstairs."

"I'll carry her." As aware as he was of the fact that Olivia would undoubtedly object to being carried anywhere by Elliot, he suspected the sentiment would be doubly so if the task were left to anyone else. One of the medics retrieved a sheet to make a more effective cover for her body. Elliot cast aside his jacket, not quite able to care if someone picked it up or not.

It took bit of finagling to get the sheet wrapped around her since he was handicapped with his hand splinted, but he wasn't about to ask for any help. Olivia didn't need anyone else to see her in her exposed condition. She'd already been violated too much by too many people. So he struggled at first, but he was able to recover, making sure her body was wrapped demurely before he lifted her into his arms.

She was lighter than he expected and he had no trouble maneuvering her through the maze of a basement and up the steps to the main house. The stretcher was there in the kitchen, a few feet shy of the door, ready to alleviate him of the job. But Elliot hesitated, reveling in the feeling of her weight, her body, safe in his arms. Under Cragen's watchful stare, he grudgingly set her down, gently lowering her legs before he guided her head onto the thin pillow.

He realized he didn't really care about Cragen's approval anymore and so reached for her hand. With her last conscious thought, she'd been trying to touch him. Elliot intended to be there when she woke up just so she would know he hadn't let her down.


	38. Day Ten, part 1

Day Ten, part 1

Day Ten

The ambulance ride was terribly slow. He was there with her, but it still seemed to take forever. They weren't running the siren, according to the medic who rode in the back, because Olivia wasn't seriously injured. It was a good thing, Elliot was assured, because she was healthy. She'd been hooked up to a heart monitor and the steady, regular rhythm of the beeping was calming his nerves. But he wanted a clean bill of health. He didn't like that she was unconscious, sedation or no. Even though he knew the sedation was merciful due to the pain of her dislocated shoulder, he still wanted her to be awake. Not that he was about to complain though. Simply sitting there in the ambulance next to her bed gave him the peace of mind he'd been missing the whole time she'd been gone and probably, if he were being honest, much longer than that.

After arriving at the hospital, the same one he and Fin had just been at, Elliot was pleased to find out that a different doctor would be treating her. He wouldn't have stood for the doctor who'd treated him, the one he wasn't sure was old enough to drive, to be anywhere near Olivia. But the new doctor was nice and he figured Olivia would appreciate being treated by a female. The doctor explained everything to Elliot prior to kicking him out. She was going to examine Olivia for any additional injuries and see if it would be possible to reset her shoulder without surgery. As she came to, they would assess her any non-apparent injuries. They'd also start an IV to reverse the obvious dehydration. The doctor followed up with a heartfelt promise to make sure Elliot was back before Olivia woke up fully. With her explanation wrapped up, she paused. Elliot read something in the odd look on her face and realize there was more, something she didn't want to say. Sadly, he knew exactly what it was.

"What about the rape kit?" The doctor stared at him, taken slightly aback by his words.

That was when he realized that the doctor didn't know they were cops. The way they'd arrived, the way he was hovering, the way he was clinging to Olivia's hand like it was a lifeline, wasn't the way an injured cop and her partner typically presented at the hospital.

The doctor looked at her paperwork, eventually finding the occupational information for her patient. "We'll have to wait for her permission to do a rape kit, if she even chooses to report it. A lot of women don't want to-"

"I know." Elliot cut her off, knowing all too well the statistics of unreported rapes. Not wanting to alienate the women who'd promised to keep him in the loop, he forced a smile. "We work Special Victims."

With a thoughtful nod, she pulled open the curtain, letting Elliot know it was time to leave. She rested a hand on his shoulder when she saw his reluctance to drop Olivia's hand. "I'll let you back as soon as possible. If she has been assaulted, even if she hasn't been under the circumstances, I'm sure she'll want to see her husband's face as soon as she wakes up."

Elliot didn't bother to correct her. He turned quickly and started for the waiting room before he could think better of leaving her side. He fully expected that her friends and coworkers would be in the hall, too eager for news to sit in the uncomfortable orange seats. They didn't disappoint him. Although they didn't disappoint him, they did surprise him. Rather than Cragen or even Fin or Munch, it was George Huang who met him first.

"How is she?" His face reflected joy, barely concealed by concern.

Had it been anyone else, Elliot would have instantly launched into as much physical description as he could, detailing her injuries, guessing her prognosis. But it wasn't anyone else. And the declaration that she would be fine just wouldn't come out. He took a deep breath and slowly met Huang's eyes. "I don't know." He'd been so preoccupied with actually being close to her that he'd put her screams of terror from his mind. Huang's inquiry took him back to those horrifying moments when she was hysterical, pleading with him to stop hurting her. He shrugged, tears threatening. "I really don't know."

Huang pulled him aside, finding a quiet room where they could sit without the prying eyes of coworkers. "Don said Olivia was extremely upset."

Elliot collapsed into a chair. He wanted to block the whole thing out of his mind, as though that was possible. He knew he'd hear her screams in his nightmares, he'd hear the way she begged him to stop, he'd hear her scared voice pleading with him not to hurt her. But as much as he didn't want to think about it, he knew better than to try to keep something from Huang. He figured he might as well get it all out there, appall Huang with the truth he'd already tried to tell him once, and then go back to Olivia's side.

At least that way Cragen wouldn't have to look far for the perp when Olivia reported her rape.

He let out a sigh and fixed Huang with his stare. "She started screaming for me to stop hurting her."

True to his form, Huang didn't give Elliot the benefit of an emotional reaction. He offered a thoughtful nod as his gaze searched around the room for the appropriate response. Finally, he leaned forward, making it painfully obvious in Elliot's mind that he was trying not to be repulsed. "Don told me that she didn't open her eyes when you went in. It's very possible that she was expecting an attack, perhaps reliving one that had already occurred."

Elliot nodded. "Yeah, you're absolutely right." He stood up, too anxious to remain sitting still. "She was reliving what I did to her. She was pleading with her attacker." He turned suddenly, feeling a little pride in the slightly startled look on Huang's face. "She was begging me to stop. She was-" His voice choked up and he had to clear his throat before he continued. "She was saying what she was too afraid to say when I was raping her."

A quiet cough was the only sound that emanated from Huang for several minutes. He found his voice, talking quietly as though he didn't expect Elliot was really going to listen anyway. "She called for you, Elliot. No matter what else you believe was going on, she called for you. She reached out for you."

A wry smile formed on Elliot's lips as he leaned back against the wall. "Like I've never seen an abused woman run home to her rapist. She's afraid of me. I've got her so fucking terrified that she won't leave me." His strength was fading, leaving him to drop heavily back into his seat. "Well if that doesn't just take the fucking cake, huh? I've spent all these years fighting to put away bastards like my god damn father and I'll be damned if I didn't fucking turn into him myself."

Unfortunately, Elliot was so wrapped up in his own pain at that moment that he missed seeing what he'd wanted. Huang's brow furrowed in thought, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his mouth pursing in concern. "Your father was abusive towards your mother?"

"My father was abusive towards anything he could get his hands on." It wasn't something that Elliot talked about. He'd slipped up and told Hendricks. He'd planned on telling Olivia. But he'd screwed up and accidentally told Huang instead. He was infuriated at himself. He had no interest in protecting his father's name or reputation; that wasn't the reason he kept the abuse to himself. He had no desire to appear weak or stupid or pathetic, which were all things he personally thought people would believe him to be if he revealed the secret. Determined not to let Huang turn what had been a question regarding a mutual friend turn into psychoanalysis, he shook his head and sat up straight. "And my father has nothing to do with this."

Huang fought back a smile. "You brought him into it."

Elliot's glare would have said everything he needed to communicate, but he backed it up with words just in case. "Drop it."

"How about letting me talk to Olivia?"

Elliot's anger and embarrassment transformed into complete confusion. "About my father?"

"No, no, that's up to you." Huang let go of a chuckle and then his face turned stoic once again. "I'd like to talk to her about what she's been through. She's not going to be cleared for duty without a psych consult."

"I'm sure someone will discuss that with her when she's awake." Elliot felt tears forming at the idea that she would be forced to tell a stranger, or even a coworker, what had happened to her. He knew her; he was a lot like her. She wouldn't want to talk about it any more than Elliot wanted to talk about his father.

"I'm probably better qualified to decide if she's ready for work since I know her." Huang let another smile appear. "And I won't let her snow me into believing she's fine which I'll bet she'll do with anyone else."

"She'll never be fine, not after what I did to her." Elliot shook his head, trying to figure out how the hell they'd wound up in such a mess in the first place. "But you can't take this job away from her. It's her whole life."

Huang nodded, understanding what Elliot was saying, yet unable to agree to put his professional aside in such a decision. "I'd like to talk to her about what you told me as well."

Elliot's mouth fell open while his eyes squeezed closed. He didn't know if he could do that, if he could admit to her, even through Huang, that he'd told anyone about what had transpired between them. He'd never even intended to share the secret. He didn't know how he could face Olivia ever again, not once she knew he'd told such intimate details to Huang. He knew, despite the trust that she mistakenly put in him, that she didn't even reveal intimate details to him.

"If what you're afraid of really did happen, if you hurt her-" Huang hesitated, allowing Elliot to realize how upsetting the idea really was to him after all. "Even if what you said is true, Elliot, do you really think she'll turn you in?" He gave Elliot a moment to think about it, letting the truth sink in. "If it's true, she deserves the right to press charges, something I don't think she'll ever do as long as she thinks no one knows. Even with all the unreported rapes, even with all the women she's convinced to talk, doing anything that might hurt you isn't going to be easy for her."

"She deserves to get back at me." Elliot swallowed hard and nodded. "Talk to her. Convince her to press charges. I won't fight it. I won't fight her."

"I have your permission?" Huang eyes were trained on Elliot's face, looking for any hint of uncertainty.

"Yeah. I should be locked up with the rest of the scum." Instead of feeling like shit at the idea that he was going to lose his job and his family and his partner and his friends and any respect anyone ever had for him, the guilt was easing in light of giving Olivia the opportunity to get even with him.

"Only if she thinks you hurt her." Huang shrugged as he stood and walked to the door. "Which I honestly doubt."

Elliot didn't answer as he followed Huang into the hall. He didn't have the chance.

Fin had been looking for him. "Elliot!" He jogged down the hall to catch up. "Been looking all over the damn place for you. Dr. Bell was looking for Olivia's husband." He stopped long enough to grin. "We figured that was you."

Elliot knew exactly why the doctor had thought that, but he pretended otherwise. "I didn't tell her that."

With a knowing smile, Fin nodded toward the exam rooms. "The doctor said Olivia wants to talk to you."

His eyes darted to Huang, wondering how dumb he probably looked to the psychiatrist. Not that it really mattered. He smiled at Fin. "Thanks." He walked as fast as he possibly could back the way he'd come after leaving Olivia's side. Even if she threw him in prison, he wasn't going to deny her anything she wanted. He approached the desk, catching the attention of a nurse. "Dr. Bell is looking for me."

The nurse stared back with a blank expression. "And you are?"

"I'm Olivia Benson's-" As the words left his lips, he realized he didn't have any idea. Rapist? Partner? Abuser? Lover? All of the above? "I'm here with Olivia Benson."

The nurse's blank expression twisted into one of displeasure. "Yeah, ok." She nodded toward the curtains. "Go ahead back. And just so you know, your wife is uncooperative as all hell."

Such a crack from a nurse would normally have merited a stern dressing down, possibly a complaint to her boss, but at the moment, hearing that Olivia wasn't being patient and understanding with the hospital staff reassured him more than anything else had since he'd found her. It wasn't like Olivia to sit down and acquiesce to medical care, even when she needed it, especially not when she needed it. She was kind of like a wounded animal in that way; she'd infinitely prefer crawling home by herself to lick her wounds in private without revealing her weakness to anyone.

As he pushed through the curtain, his smiling face was greeted by the sight of a very exasperated Dr. Bell and an angry Olivia Benson. An angry, conscious Olivia Benson who was in the process of ripping her IV right out of her arm. It just served to make him smile harder.

Her eyes left the doctor to glance at him, checking the identity of the intruder. Her face softened, finding a friend rather than foe. "I want to go home."

His eyes darted to Dr. Bell. "I'm assuming that's not highly recommended."

Olivia's eyes narrowed at him. But he couldn't find anything besides pleasure that she was feeling good enough to be combative. Her scowl didn't fade; neither did his smile.

Dr. Bell cleared her throat. "Her shoulder has only been back in the proper place for a few minutes and will need to be re-examined to be sure that it doesn't require surgery. In addition, Ms. Benson is considerably dehydrated and would greatly benefit from additional fluids."

Olivia stepped toward Elliot. "I'll follow up on my shoulder and I'll drink lots of water. Can I go now?" Although it was obvious she wasn't really looking for permission, she looked at the doctor.

Dr. Bell continued looking at Elliot. "She has also refused further medical and psychiatric examination. Considering the severe trauma she's endured, I don't think she should be out of the hospital quite so soon."

The laugh that ripped from Olivia's throat sounded cold and hard. "So the treatment for being held somewhere against your will is being held somewhere against your will?"

Elliot saw something under the abrasive, uncharacteristic venom and he couldn't turn his back on her. Not then. Not ever. "Dr. Bell, do you have some scrubs she can wear home?"

Olivia turned and glared at him. "I don't need anything from her. Where are my clothes?"

"Probably being bagged as evidence." As he spoke the words, his hand fell against his pocket, feeling the outline of her panties. He didn't think it was the moment to mention that he'd stolen them from the crime scene.

"Evidence of what? Nothing happened."

His fear was quickly changing into anger, an emotion he was much more prepared to deal with around her. "Right. I'm sure you handcuffed yourself to the wall after barricading yourself in Howie's basement."

"I'm not a danger to myself or anyone else. You have no right to make me stay here."

Elliot shook his head. "No, I don't. But how many times have you had this same argument with victims?"

"I'm not a victim." As she looked at him without meeting his eyes, the heat and energy seemed to drain out of her. "Elliot, I want to go home." And then her eyes moved up, burning holes into his. "Please take me home."

He looked at Dr. Bell. "She'll have to get cleared before she comes back to work, so it won't really hurt if I take her home, will it? I'll keep an eye on her."

Dr. Bell was reluctant, but eventually she nodded. "I'll go get those scrubs for you."

"I don't need you to keep an eye on me." Olivia moved to cross her arms over her chest, but stopped short and winced. Then she gingerly lowered her left arm back to her side.

"I know that. Maybe I need you to keep an eye on me." He lifted his hand, showing her his splinted hand.

"What happened to you?"

"Long story. But the short version is that Cragen wouldn't let me beat the shit out of Howie yesterday."

Her eyes dropped to the floor, the mention of Howie throwing her resolve. "I just want to go home."

"And I just want to keep an eye on you." He felt strange, admitting that being close to her meant something. It was incredibly fucked up with everything that had happened between them, but it was real.

When she looked back up, there was a smile on her face. "I thought you wanted me to keep an eye on you."

He waved his left hand at her. "I am kind of crippled here."

For one fleeting moment, a smirk appeared on her torn lips. "It's not your right hand, what do you need me for?"

Thankfully a nurse arrived in time to save Elliot from the humiliation that he was about to face. She placed the green scrubs on the bed. "Those are the smallest we have, but they'll work long enough to get you home."

Elliot motioned at the curtain after the nurse. "I'll be right outside."

He had barely moved two feet, but his nerves were getting the better of him and he paced a small square immediately outside Olivia's room. It seemed to be taking forever and he wanted to check on her, but he figured if he walked in on her half dressed bad things would happen. Not only would she be pissed off and feel violated after the week in captivity, but it would all be compounded by the fact that he, after the loneliness of the past week, would undoubtedly loss control and jump her, which certainly wouldn't help the situation for either of them.

Her voice sounded small and scared. "El? Can you come in here?"

Having already determined that he shouldn't, he peeked around the curtain nervously. Olivia stood facing the stretcher, her naked back turned to him. The gown she'd been wearing lay tossed aside on the floor. She seemed to just be staring at the shirt that she'd been left. Any fear of jumping her faded away at the sight of her right then, pale and bruised, skinnier than he'd ever seen.

His voice choked up as he turned away. "What's wrong?"

She sounded like she was crying, forcing her voice to sound as normal as possible. "I can't get dressed. I can't move my arm like that." It was then that he noticed the way her left arm was folded across her middle, cradled by her right.

He knew she hated to even give away that much and it broke his heart to hear her having to ask. But then he realized that she was giving him something, opening up to him in a way that she never had. Ten days earlier and she would have insisted he call the nurse to help her. Taking a deep breath, he stepped behind her, trying not to remember the last time they'd been in that position.

"Ok, let's get your left arm in first." He lifted the shirt, calling to mind the millions of times he'd helped his children dress, feeling nothing but love for her as he worked the shirt over the arm that clearly caused her a lot of pain.

Luckily the size of the shirt allowed him plenty of room to stretch it over her head and around her other arm. Satisfied that he'd done what she'd asked, he stepped toward the curtain again. "You good from here?"

She looked at him, less afraid to face him with the long shirt covering her, and grimaced. "I don't know if these have been worn before." She looked at the pants, her revulsion obvious. "I don't have any underwear." Looking down at the length of the shirt, she shrugged. "I guess I can't go out dressed like this."

He wasn't sure he could speak. He didn't know what to do. Her own panties were burning a hole in his pocket, but if the last time she'd seen them had been as her rapist was tearing them from her body, he doubted she'd want to wear them. He must have stood there too long staring.

"El?"

With a wince, he reached into his pocked and tossed her panties on the bed. She blinked at them, then at him.

"Do you have a fetish I should know about?"

"Not a fetish, no." He shrugged. "But I'm not quite right in the head after the last week."

She reached for the green fabric and moved to step into them. "Yeah, I can see that."

He felt like a prude as he turned his back, especially since she had no modesty whatsoever at that point. But he didn't think he could just stand there and watch her dress. She probably wouldn't like that either. "You ready?"

"Can you tie these?" He realized the odd, fragile sound of her voice came out whenever she needed to ask him for help.

"Yeah, no problem." He walked back over, pulling the drawstring tight, discovering that the pants would still only barely catch on her small hips. "I think I need to fatten you up."

She grinned up at him. "I could really go for some rocky road, if you're looking for suggestions."

But even as she joked with him, his mood turned somber. He released the tie, moving his hands to rest on her waist. "Liv, did he-" His voice cracked and he closed his eyes, trying to prepare himself for the possible affirmative answer from her. "Will you just let them do a rape kit? I want this guy to fry."

Her eyes were wet with gathering tears as she shook her head. "He didn't do that." She looked down, but a moment later, one of her hands moved up to his chest. "He – I don't – I'm ok. Really."

He searched her eyes, not sure if she was telling him the truth or simply what he wanted to hear. "Promise me."

Her hand slid up, her right arm curling behind his neck as she stood up on her toes and leaned into him. He gripped her fiercely, hugging her back as tightly as he dared. Her head bobbed against his in a nod. "I promise. I just want to go home."

He stepped back, reaching down to take her right hand in his, he nodded too. "Let's get you home." But as they stepped past the curtain, his eyes drifted to her face. "Are you sure, Liv?"

She smiled a vacant smile that did nothing to reassure him. "Nothing happened, Elliot. You should know. You were there."


	39. Day Ten, part 2

Day Ten, cont'd

Day Ten, cont'd

His feet were suddenly cemented to the floor and through their joined hands, he jerked her to a stop. "No, Liv, I wasn't there."

Her eyebrows knitted together with a look of concern. "Yes, you were." Her eyes moved over him before meeting his. "How'd you get out of the exam anyway?"

"I wasn't there, Olivia." He let go of her hand, reaching to cup her face. "You don't really think I was there, do you?"

She shook her head, a grin crossing her face. "I'm really tired and I want to go home."

Panic started to flood through him at the idea that she was not ok and he was going to be responsible for whatever happened to her since he was taking her home. Not that she'd listen if he insisted she stay in the hospital. He tried to force a smile, knowing the tension would be obvious on his face anyway. "Can you wait a minute? I need to talk to Huang before we go."

"You're hanging out with him now?" Olivia's eyebrow raised in question. "It's like pulling teeth trying to get you to talk to me."

"Just give me a minute." He didn't think he should mention that he'd spilled his guts when she was calling him on never talking to her. Instead he showed her toward the room where he'd talk with Huang earlier. "I'll be right back."

He stepped away, loosening his grip on her hand, expecting that she'd pull free when she realized they were actually holding hands, figuring it had slipped her notice in her desperation to leave. But rather than pulling back, she followed him. She stepped toward him, keeping her hand tight around his. He liked the idea that she wasn't afraid to be in contact with him and he smiled.

"Give me two minutes and then I'll take you home, ok?"

Her eyes widened the slightest bit, her hands squeezing tighter around his. "Don't leave."

He squeezed her hand back, offering her a real smile to comfort her. "I won't leave you here. I'm not going to make you stay here." He tried to pull his hand back again.

But she held tight, reaching out with her other hand to grasp his hand tight. "No, please." There was panic in her voice, raising it to a screech.

He lifted his left hand, meaning to touch her face to reassure her, only remembering about his splint when he realized he couldn't do what he'd intended. Undeterred, he reached around her instead, pulling her body back against his, cradling her in a hug even as one of his hands remained caged between hers.

She finally let go, only to wrap her arms around his waist. Her face tucked into his shirt, her trembling frame causing his to shake. Her tears were hot, seeping through his shirt, the moisture as painful to him as if he'd been bleeding. She was mumbling against his chest, her sounds not quite forming words as she clung to him.

With his right hand free, he reached up, smoothing his palm across her hair. "Shhh, baby, it's ok. I'm right here. I'll stay with you."

Even though she nodded in response, her arms stayed tight around him. He reached behind him, gently loosening her arms. She looked stricken as he stepped back, even as he squeezed her hand. "I won't leave, ok?"

She nodded, her face ducking down, her cheeks staining red. "I didn't like being there alone."

"I know, honey." He wanted to drape his arm around her shoulders because it was as close to a hug as he could get without actually hugging her again, which would be convenient if he was going to keep his word about taking her home. But he thought about her sore shoulder and instead kept his grip tight on her hand.

Her eyes darted back up to him. For the first time, she seemed little and scared. "Will you take me home now?"

He nodded, unable to deny the tiny request she was making. In her shoes, he knew he would have been dying to get home, take a long, hot shower, put on his own clean clothes, and fall into bed. He couldn't deny her the same thing; he'd already promised himself that he wasn't ever going to deny her anything ever again. And while she was in the shower, he could call Huang and see if the good doctor would be available for a house call.

Nodding in response to her question, he led the way to the door. "Yeah, I'll take you home now."

When they walked up to her door, she cleared her throat to speak for the first time since they'd left the hospital. "El, I don't know where my keys are."

He opened his hand, needing to let go of her long enough to reach into his pocket. But her hand remained curled around his and he had to smile. "Liv?"

She looked up at him, her face open and unguarded. "Yeah?"

"I need my hand back." He pulled his hand up, showing her how her hand was attached.

"Oh, sorry." There was no embarrassment or blush in her face as she released him. "But what about the keys?"

Reaching into his pocket, he produced her set. "I have them." He didn't think he should go into why or how he had them, not when she seemed to think they'd been kidnapped together.

"Where'd you get a key?" She didn't sound angry, but he looked at her just to make sure. She was worrying her lip, as though trying to remember when she'd given him one.

Having no such luck in keeping it from her, he motioned vaguely at in the direction of the alley. "I found your jacket outside. The keys were in your pocket." He focused on the lock, half afraid to see her become upset at something that disproved her idea.

"Good thing you found it, right?"

He nodded, swinging her door open and ushering her through it with a hand on her back. "Yeah, it was."

"My badge should have been in there too."

He looked over at her, trying to figure out how she could keep the two ideas separate – completely accurate recollection of what was in her pockets the night she was taken and completely fabricated memories of them being held captive together. He wasn't sure what to say. That was certainly something he thought he might have to defer to Huang's assessment on. "Yeah, it's still in there. But Cragen has your gun."

She nodded. "Yeah, I figured. That was clipped to my pants, not in my jacket."

Shaking his head at her odd behavior, he turned away to lock the door securely behind her. He realized, as he was turning the deadbolt, that it was the first time he'd accompanied Olivia home with every intention of staying the night. He also realized that he wasn't spending the night in any sort of capacity that he would have wanted or expected in the last week. After what he still wasn't sure to call a breakthrough or a crime, he figured any invitation to stay with her would involve more intimacy and less fear.

"Um, El?" Olivia was standing in the living room, looking at her couch. "Is there something about the state of our relationship that I forgot?"

His heart had stopped. He was sure of it. He idly wondered how long he would continue to live without a beating heart. When death didn't rear its head, he looked at her and worked to swallow a giant lump that had formed in his throat. "Uh-" His gaze lowered as his words failed him entirely. He didn't have the faintest idea of how to answer that loaded question.

She rolled her eyes when he finally dared to meet her eyes again, his panic evidently causing her no end of amusement. "Besides that, El. Something besides that."

Her words did nothing to settle his nerves. He had no way of knowing what she was referring to and if, for whatever reason that seemed to connect back to being trauma related from him attacking her and therefore wasn't something he wanted to think about, she'd forgotten that he'd fucked her so cruelly, then she could have been referring to just about anything. So he simply stared at her, waiting for divine inspiration to strike him.

Luckily her candor spared him further confusion. "After the crib. I remember that." She shrugged.

He swallowed hard, trying to make himself as comfortable with the topic as she seemed. It didn't work and he had to force himself to speak around a lump in his throat. "Well, uh, no, I, um, no."

She frowned, the pouty look fairly begging him to make it up to her. "So when did we move in together?"

By the time he took one step closer to her, he remembered how he'd left his bag there, laying open, contents spread. His talisman to encourage her safe and rapid return. He smiled, faking a level of confidence that he didn't feel. "I missed you."

Lifting her arm to look at a watch that wasn't there, she mirrored his smile. "It's been what, a couple hours?"

"A couple hours? Are you kidding?" The words were out before he could stop them, before he could think better of them. He hadn't meant to sound argumentative or exasperated; he wasn't. He just couldn't understand ow she could think only a couple of hours had gone by while he'd suffered through a hellish week. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "Shit, Liv, you've been gone for a week. The longest fucking week of my life."

"No more gone that you were." She looked around, possibly looking for evidence that she'd been gone so long. "Ok, so you didn't move in with me, right?"

"No, but if you're thinking of extending an invitation-" He caught her eyes for a moment, winking at her in a totally foreign display of flirtation. She certainly wasn't acting like she thought she'd been raped, freeing him from the worry. She was standing there discussing them moving in together like it was a legitimate option. He was hoping he'd gotten all bent out of shape over nothing.

She shrugged, her words responding to his statement while seeming entirely distracted. "You're going to have to prove it wasn't a one-time effect before I give you a key." Her tone was flat and the way she wrapped her arms around her middle revealed a discomfort she was otherwise trying to hide.

Maybe he wasn't as off the hook as he thought. Despite the oddly well-adjusted way she'd been behaving, a sure sign she was exactly not all right, he wondered if she was trying to somehow rationalize what had been as one-sided as he'd feared. He decided there was no time like the present and cleared his throat. "Liv, we really need to talk about what happened."

Her eyes met his, showing no emotion, no fear, no apprehension, no uncertainty, at what he said. "I'm filthy. I'm going to take a shower. You're not going to leave, are you?"

He held her eyes, trying to read her, milling over his options. She was obviously dodging the conversation. But he didn't know if that was because she didn't want to talk about how he'd raped her or because she didn't like to talk about her feelings or because she didn't want to have what was bound to be a conversation filled with uncomfortable moments. In the end, he realized he didn't have any idea.

He shook his head, choosing instead to give her some leeway from having only just walked in the door from being held prisoner for a week. "I'll be here."

She disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom, turning into the bathroom on the way. "Jesus, Elliot, what happened in here?"

With wide, worried, paranoid eyes and a pounding heart akin to something Poe would write about, he followed her path. "What?"

The sight answered his question in case her appalled glare hadn't. The towel he'd used after his last shower there was tossed in a ball on the floor where he'd left it, a habit Kathy'd tried for almost thirty years to break. The floor was wet as well, giving ample evidence that he evidently hadn't closed the shower curtain all the way. The wad of dried, hardened shaving cream on the edge of her sink stood out as well.

"I – uh" He cleared his throat and turned away. "I meant to clean up before you came home."

"You should have just told me you'd moved in, then I might have expected this." She moved past him, starting the shower.

Figuring he was being dismissed, he nodded toward the hall. "Are you hungry? I can see what I can scrounge up."

"Wait, I need your help."

"In the shower?" He hadn't intended, or expected, his voice to come out as a squeak. Perhaps after the unconventional approach they'd taken to love making he should have been expecting such a proposition, but he was still convinced that he'd had a lot more say and all the control in that encounter and hadn't imagined Olivia would be the sort to suggest such a thing, at least not while the state of their relationship was still very much up in the air.

He caught a hint of a smile in her mirrored reflection, but it was gone by the time she turned to face him. She was trying to wiggle her right, uninjured arm free of her shirt, but not having a lot of luck.

Feeling like an idiot, as well as a prude, he laughed at himself. "Oh, right, with the clothes."

"You put them on me, you take them off." She stepped closer to him, probably so he could easily free her of the scrubs.

Between the proximity and her teasing, he felt justified in gently brushing his hands down her arms. "If that's the way it works, I'll dress you every day."

She let him see her grin that time, unashamed in front of him even without a shirt. Her eyebrows lifted as she laughed. "I'll take that under advisement, but I suspect we might get distracted."

It felt almost unnatural to smile after so long, but he couldn't help it. His hands released the top, allowing it to drop to the floor, reaching instead for her waist. "I'm not sure I mind being distracted." His face dipped lower, his lips grazing her temple as his face slid next to hers. Although he could count on one hand the number of times he'd held her in his arms, his arms, his body, seemed to know her. His body recognized her, craved what he'd been missing for so long, so much longer than the week she was missing.

His right hand rubbed against her skin; his splinted left keeping her waist firmly pressed into him. He'd thought it would be enough, he thought having her back would be enough. Any other time in their relationship, a hug, more than one even, would have been the most he could possibly dream of. But things had changed in the crib that day, things that she wouldn't talk about, things that he couldn't explain. He'd simply reached the end of his ability to survive without her; his body needed her to keep going.

As his shoulders hunched forward to curl around her as best he could, his right hand reached up, feeling her skin for the first time, branding her body with his feather-light touch, marking her as his while he mapped the territory. He wished he hadn't been wearing a shirt as well, so that her soft breasts might push into his chest. He followed the gentle curve of her back, along her neck, into her hair. He smoothed the messy strands as he went. He wanted to say something, anything, everything. All those things that had occurred to him to tell her while she was gone. But like always, when it really mattered, words failed him. He only hoped his loving hold and soft caress was telling her what he couldn't say.

Her back shook lightly with laughter, her eyes lit with amusement when she pulled back. "I guess you really did miss me."

Because her face seemed so welcoming, because her smile was friendly, because her eyes were dancing, he couldn't resist. Not one more second. He leaned forward, closing the distance between their faces, covering her mouth with his. It had been a terribly long week for him, suffering through every moment without her and he tried to put all of his emotions into the kiss. His mouth remembered the way hers fit against his, in a way he'd remembered before he'd ever touched her, in a way that reassured him it was just meant to be. His lips parted, his tongue tracing along her lower lip, begging her the way he should have before he claimed her body. And like he'd hoped, her mouth granted him entrance, her tongue eagerly searching the overheated air for his.

Heaven. He was in heaven.

He was so damn happy that he couldn't stop smiling, not even when she pulled back and reminded him about her shower. He was so damn happy that he had no trouble appearing completely calm when he shut the door, even though he knew he had a very limited time to fix up all the things he'd messed up while he was staying there.

Figuring he could do that while he was calling Huang for advice on Olivia's mental state, he grabbed his phone and headed for the washer where he'd left her sheets days earlier.

But a terrified shriek coming from the bathroom stopped him in his tracks.


	40. Day Ten, part 3

Day Ten, cont'd

Day Ten, cont'd

He dropped the phone from his hand, the idea of treating whatever condition she had paling in comparison to saving her from any immediate threat. Terrified by the idea that there was something physically wrong with her that the doctor hadn't found which he helped Olivia hide by taking her home, he raced to the bathroom door.

"Olivia?" His voice was high and panicked, but he held back from tearing through the door. Lack of modesty aside, she was in the shower and she'd been held prisoner and she'd just screamed bloody murder so he didn't know if he should burst in on her. He knocked softly, unwilling to startle her.

He didn't hear a response. "Liv?" He gave her another moment, praying she'd answer that everything was fine. But he got nothing. "I'm coming in, ok?" He wasn't expecting anything then, but he pushed the door open slowly, just in case she suddenly decided to issue a warning.

The bathroom was dark, blinding him while his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. "Liv?" He thought he heard something, but he couldn't be sure with the shower running. He pushed the door open further, allowing the light from the hall to illuminate the room, revealing only the closed shower curtain. "Are you ok?" Slightly more convinced that he was getting some sort of whimper as a response, he stepped forward and pulled the curtain away.

There was Olivia, his proud, strong, determined partner, huddled in the back of her bathtub. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her legs pulled up to her chest, her face pressed into her knees. She was shaking, sobbing, whimpering.

"Jesus, Liv." He reached over, allowing the water to soak through his shirt as he turned off the shower. The moment the rush of the water subsided the air was filled with her cries, scared, pathetic whining. He squatted down, daring to reach for her since she seemed unable to even process his words. "I'm here, Liv. It's ok." His hand ran over her hair, his fingers catching in the wet strands.

She jerked at his touch, her whine growing louder momentarily. But then she seemed to recognize him, belatedly hearing his voice. "El?" Her voice was timid and her face remained stubbornly hidden from sight.

"Yeah, honey, it's me. You're safe, Liv." He wasn't sure what to do. She obviously needed more help than he knew how to provide, but he couldn't justify calling Huang to intercede. First of all, he knew she'd never forgive him when she got better for having made her face a coworker while she was hysterical and naked in her shower. Secondly, he didn't want to leave her sitting there like that long enough for Huang to get there anyway.

Yanking a towel off the rack, he reached out and tried to cover her. "Let's get you out of there, ok?" Her head bobbed in agreement, but that was all the indication she gave of complying. Without her help, he wouldn't be able to lift her while he was kneeling. He withdrew his hands, placing one at the side of the tub for balance.

Before he could move further, she reached out, clawing at the skin of his hand. "No!"

"You want to stay in the tub?" He couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice, even as he realized her complaint had nothing to do with her physical location. Just as in the hospital, she was convinced he was going to leave her and she was desperate for him to stay. "Hey, it's ok, Liv. I'm not going anywhere."

She winced as she lifted her arms, her injured shoulder moving slower as her hands moved towards him. She didn't care that the towel he'd haphazardly placed around her had fallen free from her shoulders and was soaking up the remaining water around her. She didn't care that she was shaking and crying and giving away so much of herself in front of her partner. She didn't care that she was more exposed to Elliot's eyes than she'd ever been to Howie's.

It was clear that all she wanted was to be back in Elliot's arms and he had no desire to deny her. And he sure as hell didn't give a shit what she was wearing.

He leaned forward again, reaching one arm around her back and one under her knees, ignoring his muscles' cries of protest from the uncomfortable angle. He managed to lift her over the side of the tub which allowed him to collapse back into the wall with Olivia in his lap. Knowing he had a few fresh bruises from it and pretty sure she probably did too, he carefully adjusted her so he could cradle her against him.

There was one towel left on the rack and he used that one to drape over body, hoping to keep her from getting cold. She either didn't notice or didn't care. She only burrowed her face into his neck, using her good arm to secure herself to his torso.

He closed his eyes and rocked her slowly, shushing her hiccupping sobs, promising her that everything was going to be fine. He felt like a shit for lying to her, knowing full well that with her mental state he had absolutely no guarantee that anything would ever be fine. But it wasn't something she needed to hear and it wasn't something he wanted to say.

Several long minutes had passed before her sobs started to subside and he spent the time rubbing her back and returning all the pressure of her embrace. Finally she seemed to be settled down, her sobs fading into quiet tears that were slowing somewhat. He leaned down, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

"Feel like telling me what happened?"

She nodded against him, her face turning out from his shoulder so she could speak. "I don't know. It was just dark all of a sudden." She lifted her head, looking at the light switch. "I guess the bulb burned out."

He looked in the same direction, reaching up to flip the switch off and then back on. Nothing happened. "Yeah, how's that for timing?"

Her hand knotted around his shirt, holding fast. "It was dark and I was alone and I got scared. I thought maybe you'd left me there again."

Elliot's eyes pressed closed as he tried to force back the shudder that wanted to run through him. His arms tucked around her and held her tight. "I never left you there, Liv."

She shook her head. "Yes, you did. You'd be there and then you'd leave. I never knew when you'd be back."

"Liv, I wasn't there. Howie had you for a week and I spent the whole damn time tearing the city apart looking for you."

Her body tensed, telling him he'd said the wrong thing. She didn't give him a chance to fix his mistake. He knew better than to try to hold her still when she twisted out of his arms. Rather than the helpless, terrified woman he'd started seeing glimpses of, Olivia had changed back into the partner he knew. She didn't even look at him while she wrapped the towel around herself, ran her fingers through her hair and plugged in her blow dryer.

He watched silently from his soaked spot on the floor as she realized she couldn't work the brush and dryer at the same time with her sore shoulder, but he didn't offer to help. He wasn't looking at the person he'd had to help dress anymore. No, he was staring at the woman who'd shave her head sooner than ask someone for help to dry it.

She glanced in his direction, but didn't meet his eyes. "Was there something you needed?"

He wanted to be understanding. He wanted to understand. Instead he pulled himself to his feet and shrugged, realizing too late that getting angry wouldn't help anything. "No. Give me a call if another light burns out." He stomped past her, feeling very much like a four-year-old as he pouted. He'd never been fond of mood swings, although he was very familiar with them after his years of marriage as Kathy's mood changed more often than the weather.

But Olivia wasn't a thing like Kathy and he didn't like the sudden personality change. Keeping an ear on the dryer because he was certain she'd freak out if she overheard him, he picked up his phone from where he'd dropped it and called Huang. Much like his partner, Elliot didn't like asking for help, but he could admit when he was in over his head, especially when not getting help could have long-lasting detrimental effects on Olivia.

He opted to believe it was a stroke of luck that he got Huang's voice mail. He wasn't exactly feeling up to chatting with the doctor, not when he thought about his inability to keep things to himself. He left a message that clearly explained how much Olivia was in need of a house call.

And in keeping with his newly discovered penchant for attracting good luck, he'd already hung up when Olivia plopped down beside him on the couch. She'd changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and pulled her bare feet up onto the sofa between them. Her smile gave no indication of the way she'd thrown him out of the bathroom minutes earlier.

She cocked her head to the side as she reached for the television remote. "I've got a serious craving for Chinese food. You hungry?" Her face didn't even turn to him as she flipped through several channels.

Unsure of what to say and unwilling to start an argument by offering any resistance, he nodded. "Sure, I could go for Chinese."

She finally settled on a news channel before tossing a smile vaguely in his direction. "Good, then you won't mind paying for it, right?"

With a groan, he shook his head at their long-standing shtick regarding who was financially responsible for their meals. "Gee, how did I know that was coming?"

Her eyes met his, a smile spreading across her face as she winked. "Maybe cause you at least owe me dinner after that little incident in the crib."

It was the second time she'd thrown a completely casual remark at him about the way they'd fucked. It was the second time she'd revealed that she was more comfortable with what had happened than he was.

Even knowing she was evidently ok with what had happened, he still wasn't ready to talk about it. So he picked up his phone again, taking it with him into the kitchen to find the number for her favorite Chinese restaurant. He didn't bother to ask her what she wanted; he'd known her order for years. Just as he was hanging up, another called came in. Huang was calling to let him know that he was a few minutes away and that he'd be happy to talk to Olivia.

Elliot sat down on the sofa once again, unable to broach the subject of her impending psychoanalysis. Not when Olivia looked so content and relaxed. Not when Olivia was letting him see her stretched out with her head pillowed on her forearm. Not when Olivia had straightened her legs, tucking her feet into his lap. Unwilling to disturb the peaceful moment, he watched her while she watched the news, waiting for the knock at the door that might ruin everything.


	41. Day Ten, part 4

Day Ten, cont'd

Three sharp taps on the door broke through the quiet monotone voice of the newscaster. While Elliot groaned inwardly, Olivia jumped to her feet, paying no mind to the fact that his hands had been caressing the skin of her feet and ankles.

"Food's here!"

Elliot wasn't even sure she was talking to him. For the moment, he was distracted from the thought of who besides the delivery man could be at the door. He was concentrating on the fact that he'd been trying to make some inroads toward intimacy with her when she wasn't sobbing and he'd mistakenly thought that she was accepting the overture by her lack of protest. But the way she'd jumped up at the knock indicated that she hadn't even noticed.

"Are you moonlighting as a delivery guy now? FBI's not paying what it used to?"

Dejected at the idea that Olivia could ignore his touch when he was always acutely aware of her, Elliot only half heard the words at first. But they sunk in, leaving Elliot slightly nauseated as he joined Olivia at the door to face Huang. He tried to force a smile. "Thanks for coming, George."

Huang nodded, staying in the hallway outside while he tried to read Olivia's face. "It's good to see you, Olivia."

Elliot, on the other hand, wasn't having any trouble whatsoever reading his partner's body language. The woman who had moments earlier been draped across his lap was furious, tension radiating off her in waves. His expression was much clearer to Huang, who shrank back a step. He tried to explain away Olivia's mood. "Liv was hoping for the Chinese." Ignoring his partner when she was mad at him was never a good idea, but as usual, no better ideas came to him.

Huang smiled. "Sorry, wrong Chinese guy."

Without a word, Olivia turned around and went back to the couch to sulk. Elliot wasn't sure if it was purely because a psychiatrist had shown up at her door or if some of her anger had to do with the fact that she was still without food.

Elliot frowned, stepping back to allow Huang entrance. "I didn't exactly mention inviting you."

"I doubt she would have been happier if you had mentioned it." Huang stepped into the room and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. "Don was considerably upset to find out you guys slipped out the back door of the hospital."

"She was begging. What was I supposed to do?" He didn't bother trying to come up with a better explanation for his behavior. Huang already knew better and Elliot didn't see any point in wasting the energy until he was face to face with Cragen and trying to save their jobs.

Setting his jacket down on the chair by the door, Huang offered an understanding nod. "Not that I can really imagine Olivia begging for anything, but I can easily picture exactly how quickly you'd fold under that strain."

With a chuckle, Elliot glanced over his shoulder at Olivia. She was staring at the TV, her displeasure still palpable from across the room. He turned back to Huang. "So, would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks." Huang gestured toward Olivia, but Elliot had no idea what he meant to convey.

"How should this work? Do you want me to tell you what's going on or do you want to talk to us together?"

Huang's brow tensed, revealing hesitation. "Actually, I'd like to speak with her alone first. I know you mentioned that she's possibly having panic attacks, but I'd really prefer to interact with her and come to a diagnosis that way."

Elliot winced visibly. He wasn't terribly surprised by Huang's suggestion; on the contrary, it was pretty much what he'd expected. The issue was that Olivia, despite any disagreement she was having with him, didn't seem to do very well without him. In fact, she had only been willing to be without him twice since he'd found her and one of those situations, her shower, had gone very badly indeed. He waved vaguely in Olivia's direction. "It's up to her, really. Whatever she wants."

Huang looked pained, as though it was difficult to have to break it down enough to make Elliot understand. "I can't say that she'll speak freely with me if you're there, Elliot." He shrugged. "Not that she'll necessarily speak freely with me anyway."

"I understand that. It's just-" He looked over his shoulder again, seeing that Olivia's fury had given way to a bit of curiosity and found her looking back at them. He tried to smile at her before he looked back at Huang. "She doesn't seem to take it well when I leave her for any length of time."

Her voice was beside him so suddenly that he jumped. "Are you guys just going to stand here and talk about me or what?"

"What makes you think we were talking about you?" Elliot tried his best to appear innocent, but usually, that wound up making him look guiltier.

"Because you kept looking at me."

Huang stepped to the side, making room for the other Chinese man who'd just arrived. While Elliot was paying him, Huang spoke to Olivia. "Is there somewhere you'd feel comfortable talking?"

Olivia snatched the bag from Elliot. "No. I'm hungry."

"Liv, you're going to have to talk to someone before you go back to work. You might as well do it with the Chinese in the comfort of your own living room." Elliot didn't want to press the subject that she clearly needed to talk to someone because it would undoubtedly upset her.

She didn't glance up from the bag of food she was pawing through. "How come you don't have to get counseling? You were there too."

With a dejected sigh, Elliot shook his head and snagged the bag from her. "Which is exactly why the doctor made a house call. I wasn't there, Liv."

Olivia glared at him as she continued fishing through the bag in Elliot's hand, trying to find something besides the two containers already in her hand. "Yes, you were."

"No, Liv-" He was prepared, likely due to the presence of a licensed healthcare professional, to argue the point with her. "We've been through this before. I was not there."

Her attention was suddenly diverted from the food as she glared at him and spoke through clenched teeth. "Yes. You. Were."

Elliot opened his mouth again, shaking his head firmly, refusing to give in to her delusion no matter how much he wanted to agree with her and go back to sitting on the couch with her legs in his lap. "Listen to me, Liv, I-"

Huang caught Elliot's eyes, shaking his head furiously.

He hadn't been expecting Huang to side with Olivia and therefore, rather than continuing to speak, Elliot's mouth simply fell open. He glanced at his partner who was still staring at him, waiting for him to say something, and then checked with Huang again.

Huang was slightly more helpful than Olivia's angry stare, mouthing 'agree with her' at him.

He was completely unsure as he cleared his throat, digging deep to find his voice. "Yeah, ok, whatever you say, Liv."

Olivia was as confused by Elliot's sudden change of heart as Elliot had been at Huang's advice. She looked back and forth between the two men for several seconds before she shrugged and patted Huang on the back. "I'm going to keep you around all the time." Not wanting to chance any additional discussion, she took her food back to the living room and spread it out on the coffee table.

Although Olivia had been happy to accept Huang's interference, Elliot was not. "What the fuck was that? I'm just supposed to let her believe some crazy shit about how I was there with her the whole time? I asked you to help, not make her a fucking lunatic."

Huang held up his head to stave off any further verbal assault. "It's a defense mechanism, Elliot. If she were capable of dealing with the facts, she would."

"But she'll never deal with the facts if she doesn't know what they are." The idea didn't sit right with him, but he still trusted Huang more than he cared to admit.

"Until I can assess her, I think it's best to leave her defenses intact. Let me see what I can get out of her."

Elliot shrugged. "You better know what you're doing." He didn't mean to threaten his friend, god knew after the way he'd acted during the last week he didn't have that many left. He offered the rest of the bag to Huang. "She'll probably want the rest of this in two minutes."

Huang accepted the bag and moved into the living room, approaching Olivia slowly, smiling at her. "Is it ok if we talk while you eat?"

She nodded absentmindedly as she picked through one of the cartons with her fork. But then, without warning, she dropped the food and jumped off the couch, practically sprinting back to Elliot's side. "You're not leaving, are you?" Her hands were gripping his shirt, as though she might convince him to stay by clawing at him.

"No, I'm not leaving. I'm just going to be in the kitchen while you guys talk, ok?" His hand moved to her cheek, the desire to reassure her overwhelming any embarrassment he might feel for touching her in front of a witness, even when the witness was quite obviously studying their interaction.

"I don't want you to leave. Not yet, ok?" She was quiet, but her voice held a frantic note to it that scared him.

He shook his head as he reached his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. "I'm not leaving you, Liv. I'm not going anywhere." It struck him then, even more than it had earlier, how devastated she was by what had happened to her. Because, although they were rare, there had been the occasional moment in their history when Olivia had let her guard down in front of him, when she had allowed him to be her strength, when she had let him see how deep her emotions ran. But she was never like that with strangers, nor with friends. Her coworkers were not privy to her feelings. Everything that Olivia let people see was carefully measured and analyzed. Control was her protection.

And letting Huang, a coworker, a friend, a psychiatrist, see her clinging to Elliot out of the fear that he might leave her alone, was an unmistakable sign that things were far from ok with her.


	42. Day Eleven, part 1

Day Eleven

Day Eleven

The night was deathly silent. So quiet, in fact, that Elliot was loathe to even uncross his legs despite the fact that one had long since been numbed by his immobility. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact that he was awake. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact that he was still there. He was kind of hoping Olivia would forget. Because if she didn't remember he was there, maybe she wouldn't carry through on her threat to throw him out and never speak to him again.

After what felt like forever of waiting in her kitchen, listening to the soft sounds of a conversation he couldn't, and didn't want to, overhear, Huang had stopped in the doorway to let Elliot know he was on his way. It was too early, apparently, to make a definitive diagnosis, but Huang suspected she was suffering from Acute Stress Disorder, which would hopefully not develop into a paralyzing case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

And, much to Elliot's comfort at that moment, Huang informed him that Olivia did not consider him to be a rapist.

Unfortunately, the moment the door closed behind Huang, Olivia let Elliot know exactly what she thought of Elliot's inability to keep a secret, especially when it seemed abundantly obvious that it wasn't something meant for public knowledge.

Of course, with Huang's warning to try not to upset her, Elliot hardly felt like he could make any arguments on his own behalf. So he sat in the chair adjacent to her spot on the couch, listening to her rip him a new one for having been so stupid as to give another man, a friend, a coworker, intimate details about them.

After an hour or so, she'd quieted down. Elliot suspected that she'd exhausted herself and that the verbal assault would be renewed the minute she gathered some more strength. Hence the sitting silently. He didn't want to get thrown out, and despite her previous indications that she did not want to be alone, he strongly suspected that she'd do it. He hated that she was mad as much as he hated that Howie's actions had indeed impacted her psyche so obviously. He was content, considering the previous week, to sit there and watch her.

Just seeing that she was alive was enough to satisfy him.

He actually jumped in surprise when she reached for the remote to turn off the TV. Despite her eyes having been open, he'd thought she must have fallen asleep. Neither of them had moved in so long that the room had been lit almost entirely by the glow from the television. Only a hint of light shone through the closed blinds, barely illuminating anything. A shiver coursed through him when he met her dark eyes.

She stared at him for a long time, without giving him any idea whatsoever what she was thinking about. But then she looked away, pulling her legs up to her chest, ducking her face down. Her voice was soft, muffled by her position. Elliot had to strain to hear her since he didn't dare ask her to speak up or move closer.

"Why did you tell him?"

Another shiver ran through him. Although she'd referenced the sex in the crib, although she'd torn into him for telling Huang, they hadn't discussed what had happened. They hadn't had the opportunity to come to terms with it as a unit nor with the ramifications. And Elliot suspected that was exactly what was about to happen.

Drawing in a slow, shuddering breath, he tried to look at her, but wasn't able to drag his eyes from the floor. He was, in fact, barely able to force enough air through his lungs to form words. Loathe as he was to bring it up when she was so angry at him, he was going to have to force the issue. Because there was no other way to answer her, to defend himself, to explain that he hadn't been trying to spread rumors or upset her.

"Cragen called him in because I was falling apart." And he had been. Not that talking to Huang had really helped much, considering that he was still pretty sure he was in pieces.

"What does that have to do with anything?" She lifted her head to look at him, but he didn't dare return the glance. "Did telling him what you saw help? Did telling him that I like it rough make you feel better?"

He gasped, her words stabbing him like a knife. "God, no, no that's not what-" His voice started to crack and he had to take a breath, realizing there was no way for him to hide the tears that had formed. He chanced finding her eyes, but found no sympathy or understanding in them, only hurt and reproach and betrayal. He sniffled, only able to whisper. "I thought I'd raped you."

That hadn't been what she'd expected. He could tell from the surprise, from the way her eyes darted between his, from how her mouth fell slightly open.

"What?" Her whisper matched his, her own voice choked with emotion and confusion.

He was shaking. He could see it when he leaned forward to drop his face into his hands. His hands were shaking. Badly. He was terrified. Terrified of facing what he'd done again, terrified that Huang had been wrong, terrified that Olivia might have forgotten the details, terrified that she would tell him that his worst fears were completely true. But he'd been strong enough to face Huang and reveal the hideous truth to him. Olivia had been strong enough to face the hell of being held prisoner by Howie. He owed her an honest answer.

"I lost control. I was crazy. When I grabbed you, when I touched you, God, Liv, I don't know what the hell was going through my head. I just wanted you so badly. I had to have you. I didn't even realize that I was hurting you until afterwards." He swallowed back a sob, afraid that her instinct would be to comfort him when that was the last thing he deserved. "I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't think. I don't really even know if you fought me or told me to stop." Finally he looked up, searching for her eyes in the dark. "I thought that I was going to get away with it because you weren't there to report me."

"And you thought telling him would help?" Her voice was still quiet and entirely flat, as though she was still undecided about forgiving him.

Or perhaps, he realized, because hearing him confess the truth to her brought back the terror of the ordeal.

"I'm still half convinced that I belong in prison, that you want me in prison." His eyes continued to hold hers, looking, begging, for any sign. He saw nothing and couldn't quite hold back the choked sob that came out of his chest. "I swear I never meant to hurt you."

Her eyes fell away from his, her arms burrowing between her thighs and calves as she seemed to fold herself up. Her face was hidden and her voice barely a whisper. "You didn't. Why did you think I was so upset that you told Huang?"

Between her body language and his guilt, he couldn't quite grasp what she was telling him. "You're trying to cover for me, aren't you?"

Her head jerked up, shock taking over her features. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't tell anyone that I raped you, then you can pretend it didn't happen." He was growing more convinced of it by the second. He couldn't see Olivia sitting in Cragen's office, reporting the crime, her tears falling as she described the brutal attack. He couldn't see her showing that weak side of herself to anyone besides himself. "You're mad because Huang's not going to help you. He'll insist you report it. He'll report himself before he lets a rapist go loose."

"You're not a rapist."

A laugh bubbled up, escaping in between his sobs. "How fucked up is this? After everything you've been through, you're trying to comfort me for raping you."

"You're not a rapist." Her voice was growing stronger, tinged with anger.

He looked at her, finding the anger in her voice was reflected in her eyes. "I know what I did. I know it was wrong."

He didn't know what it meant when her chin suddenly started to tremble. "Stop. Stop saying that. I said you're not a rapist. Now shut the fuck up about it." But as furious as her voice sounded, her eyes weren't quite meeting his again.

"You'll never be ok until you admit what I did to you." Because that was probably why she'd refused treatment in the hospital. She hadn't just been raped by Howie, she'd been raped by her partner. And she was afraid that revealing one would reveal the other.

Her voice raised to a shout, something that was certain to get the attention of the neighbors. "Stop it! Shut the fuck up or get the hell out!"

He found the strength to stand even though he was still shaking. He'd have to call Huang. He'd have to tell the truth. Because Olivia would never get treated for the right thing unless he told the truth. Because she sure as hell wasn't going to do it. "I'm turning myself in. You obviously never will."

He got all the way to the door before he felt the tug on his shirt, before he felt her nails digging into his back. Turning around, his tear-filled eyes met hers in the darkness. "It's ok, Liv. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't deserve what I did to you."

"I didn't deserve it? I enjoyed it, you son of a bitch! What the hell do you think that says about me? That's why I hate that you told Huang! Now he thinks I'm some kind of freak." Her chin started to tremble and she looked down, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Her hands clung to his shirt, desperate to hold him there. "God, please don't hate me!"

Her plea pulled his attention away from his self-flagellation. "I don't hate you." He leaned down, pressing his chin over her head, returning the desperate embrace. "Jesus, I could never hate you."

Her voice was half hidden in his shirt, but she wasn't loosening her grasp on him. "You didn't rape me, Elliot. Please tell me you know that."

He couldn't answer her. He couldn't. He couldn't honestly say what he believed. It was just as likely that she was lying as telling the truth. But one thing was clear – she was absolutely terrified that he would leave her.

And no matter what had happened a week earlier, he knew he couldn't hurt her again. He couldn't leave her when it was so important to her that he stay.

He tightened his arms around her as he let his legs fold, pulling her into his lap as he dropped to the floor. "I won't leave you, Liv. I promise."

He felt her nod against his chest. So he pulled her a bit closer and rested his head against hers.


	43. Day Eleven, part 2

Day Eleven, cont'd

Day Eleven, cont'd

They stayed there, cradled together, clinging to one another, for a long time. Elliot couldn't even swear that he'd been awake the whole time, let alone if she had been. He didn't want to disturb her. He didn't want to make her think he was at all uncomfortable with her in his arms. But it was her first night home, her first night in a week that she wasn't forced to sleep chained to a wall. She was home and she deserved to sleep comfortably in her own bed.

While one arm stayed tight around her, the other moved carefully, his hand curling around her shoulder to shake her gently. "Liv? Are you up?"

It could have been that she hadn't been or that she was simply unwilling to move, but her head shifted slowly to lift her face out of his shirt. "Yeah."

"Why don't we move you someplace slightly more comfortable?" He desperately hoped that she'd insist on having him lay beside her, but he didn't have the nerve to suggest it first.

Her head shifted back to where it had been. "That's ridiculous. There's nowhere more comfortable than here."

He couldn't help but smile. Although there were a multitude of physical complaints he could list from their collapsed position on the floor, he knew the mental strength he drew from holding Olivia in his arms far outweighed them. Still, he felt he owed her more and sifted his hands through her short hair, turning her face up to meet his.

"Come on, Liv. Whether you care or not, I bet your back has some pretty strong feelings about a bed at the moment."

She shifted around, starting to get her feet under her, but she froze in the midst of the process. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

He shook his head, the soft plea in her voice speaking to his innate desire to protect her. "Haven't we covered this already?"

She turned away, her eyes downcast as though she'd been chastised. She opened her mouth to speak, but Elliot's fingers brushed over her lips, silencing her.

"Don't worry, Liv." He used his voice, his eyes, his touch, to reassure her. He hadn't meant for her to think he was upset or annoyed. His hand slid along her cheek, cupping around the back of her neck, pulling her forehead forward to meet his. Every contact was so new, so exciting, that he took a moment to revel in the simple feel of her skin against his. Rather than subsiding, the intensity increased with each passing second, driving home the very idea that he was holding Olivia, that she was returning his affection, that she was allowing him such unlimited access to both her body and her psyche.

His voice was choked into a whisper by the feelings he couldn't deny. "I'm never going to leave you, ok?"

She only nodded in response and he feared that perhaps his feelings were as one-sided as he'd declared to Cragen, that perhaps she didn't want to encourage his emotional attachment, that perhaps she suspected he was taking advantage of her impaired mental state. But with the proximity of their faces, her nod brought her cheek in contact with his, letting him feel the moisture from the tears that weren't his.

And so it was with a novel awareness of the altogether overwhelming nexus between them that he led Olivia to her bedroom for the first time. He paid no attention to the lack of sheets, since he'd never gotten around to drying them, nor did he bother to explain how her pillows and blankets had wound up scattered around the floor amid the piles of clothes she'd left there herself. He honestly wasn't sure in what state he'd left his own apartment, so he was hoping Olivia might not notice anything out of the ordinary. Especially when he was so ill-prepared to like to her. Especially when she probably didn't want the whole truth from him for once.

But his attention was quickly drawn away from those hours he'd spent in her bed alone. It wasn't one of those horrible, lonely nights from the previous week. It wasn't one of those horrible, lonely nights from the rest of his life. It was after. It was a new time, a new beginning, a new start that he fully expected to last the rest of his life.

Her hand was snug in his as he squatted down to retrieve one of the pillows. He smiled nervously. He wanted to laugh at himself, at the situation. He and Olivia had been to hell and back together, professionally and personally. More recently, they'd been to hell separately. In light of all the things they'd seen together, in light of what they'd actually done together, it seemed preposterous that he might be nervous about anything at all in front of her. And yet he was uncertain as he faced her.

"Are you ready for bed or do you want to change?" He gestured at her attire, knowing that she'd changed after her failed attempt at a shower. But he honestly had no idea if she wore her sweats as pajamas or had something else to wear. It seemed absurd to him that he didn't know what she slept in. He thought it was something he should have known, that he ought to know that much about her when he knew what it felt like to be inside of her.

She sat down on the bed, scooting toward the center and giving his hand a gentle tug. "I don't feel like changing. Let's just go to bed."

With the threat of tears at how moving the experience was, Elliot gave into her pull. He kicked off his shoes while he pulled a blanket back onto the bed, but he didn't make any other attempts to change. If Olivia was going to sleep in her clothes, then he would do the same. Besides, he acknowledged, the more layers of clothes between them the better for him, considering why her bed had no sheets in the first place.

He certainly didn't want to spend his first night in bed with Olivia only to wake up in the same condition he had the last time he'd been there. He'd been mortified and had hated himself for what he'd done; he couldn't begin to imagine how bad the reaction would be if Olivia witnessed it for herself. So he settled himself down beside her, concentrating on the fact that he'd never before stretched out in her bed with her. But as she curled into his chest and his arms encircled her, he felt as though he'd been sleeping like that all his life. Her body felt comfortable resting next to his. The weight of her leg when she moved it over one of his felt so familiar he found himself actually searching his memory for a chance that maybe he had been there before.

But as her arm stretched around his waist, she lifted her head to snuggle against his chest, revealing a contented smile on her face that he knew he would have remembered had he ever seen it. She was still after a moment, having found a comfortable spot.

He suspected his own smile would mirror hers if he could see it. He pressed a kiss against her hair. "Good night, Liv."

"Night, El." Her voice was slightly muffled by his shirt. "Tomorrow you can explain what happened to my sheets."

He snickered at her, knowing that she was at least giving him a warning, a chance to come up with something good. But what he was really excited about was the fact that, as opposed to those previous nights in her bed, the morning would bring him the wonderful experience of waking up beside her for the first time.

Of course, he wasn't counting on the fact that before he could enjoy that happy morning, he would have to endure the harrowing night. A night which started with the all too familiar sound of his partner screaming.


	44. Day Eleven, part 3

Day Eleven, cont'd

Day Eleven, cont'd

He couldn't have been asleep for more than a few minutes. He was still half-asleep, unsure as to exactly where he was. The scream that had awoken him was still ringing in his ears and his instinct to comfort Olivia in her terror wasn't the slightest bit dulled by his confusion. Although it was a bit of a shock to realize for the first time that the woman lying beside him, the woman sharing his bed, was Olivia. It only took a split second for the surprise to give way to utter happiness.

Unfortunately, it only took another split second for the happiness to dissolve into a flood of sheer panic when a whimper came from the place beside him.

He rolled onto his side, stretching his arm out around her body, trying both to shake her from the memory or the the dream and to communicate his protective presence to her unconscious mind. It wasn't unexpected for her to withdraw, to coil further into herself, to reject his touch in her sleep. But it hurt just the same, more so when he realized that she was not lost in the throws of a nightmare. He told himself that it wasn't personal, that it couldn't be personal when she was no more aware of his identity that she was of the fact that she was lying in her own bed.

He kept his arm out, his hand gripping her shoulder. "Liv, it's ok." He was thankful for the darkness which prevented him from seeing her more clearly. "It's just me, honey. You're safe."

He hadn't necessarily expected his words to fix anything; he didn't think she would sit up and snap out of it. Nor was he adequately prepared for her to shriek at his voice and flail her injured arms to escape the confines of his gently touch. Her actions did, however, comfort him on some level because she wasn't fighting him or afraid that he would hurt her. She was back in Howie's basement, reliving those terrible days she was alone there.

Her pathetic cries faded, giving Elliot false hope that she was through the worst of it. But her voice came again before he was even able to breathe a sigh of relief. Although her words would have been lost between the softness of her voice and the tears, Elliot was all too familiar with them, easily recognizing those words that broke him deep inside.

"Please, god, no, stop!"

He knew she wasn't fighting him, despite the way she twisted and pulled at his hold. He also knew the words weren't aimed at him, that she never would want him to leave her. He was even starting to half believe her promise that he hadn't raped her. Even so, her words, her desperate voice, her obvious fear, crippled him. He supposed it was all the years working as a cop, especially in SVU, or it could have been having had an abused mother and younger sisters and three daughters, or perhaps it was simply an innate instinct in him, but no matter the cause, he could barely stomach witnessing Olivia's attempt to ward off her captor. He hated seeing her cry. He hated hearing her whimper. He hated seeing her injured and broken and helpless.

And as much as he wanted to grab her and shake her free from the hysteria that forced her to stare at him and see Howie, his hands had long since released their hold on her. Because even unconsciously, he'd responded to her request to let her go.

He wasn't physically capable of touching her against her will, he realized.

Finally, the millstone of guilt no longer weighed down on his weary shoulders. He hadn't raped her. He might have been out of control and crossing all sorts of lines that he would have been well-advised to stay far away from, he knew he would never have laid a hand on her that wasn't welcome and he certainly never could have held her down and raped her.

The downside of his mental release and subsequent physical relaxation was that Olivia was awake and unencumbered and terrified out of her wits. Quite literally.

She sprang from the bed and was halfway down the hall before Elliot even realized it. He gave chase, fearing what could happen if she were to get out of her apartment or worse, if she were to get out of his line of sight.

It served to his advantage that her eyes and mind were locked inside Howie's walls because her escape was far less effective than it would have been had she been aware that she was at home. But Elliot could hardly rejoice in the ease of her defeat, not when it came in the form of her collapsing against the back of her arm chair and curling into a ball, sobbing with the excruciating letdown of failure.

As he approached, he moved slowly and spoke softly. He was trying to get in a position where she might see him eventually, hoping his voice would help guide her out of her fear. There was a voice in his head that taunted him, telling him that her pleas for someone to stop doing something certainly meant she'd been raped by Howie. He couldn't listen; he couldn't even think about it. Because he figured it was more important for her to know she was free. Once she knew she was safe, then he could work on getting her to open up about what had happened to her in Howie's prison.

"Hey, Liv, it's ok. It's just me." When he was within an arm's reach of her, he squatted down so he wouldn't appear as imposing if she happened to look up. It killed him to see the way her hands revealed how very aware of his presence she was – her nails dug into the fabric of her sweatpants and likely into her skin as well.

He couldn't fight back the urge anymore. He had to touch her. He had to try to soothe her. His hands moved to cover hers, careful to not threaten her with more confining contact. Instead his fingers worked gently against hers, trying to loosen her grasp on herself. He figured it would be a step in the right direction if he could simply get her to cling to him rather than to continue thinking she was alone.

By the time he'd worked her fingers open enough to slip his palms against hers, she'd stopped whimpering. Not that her silent, racking sobs were much of an improvement. But he decided to count it as a victory that he was maintaining contact with her.

"You're safe, Liv. You're safe now." His voice broke as he said the words, as he realized that his days of desperation and hopelessness had taken a much bigger toll on her. While he'd been slightly deranged and practically suicidal, she'd been fighting to hold onto the life she knew. She'd been waiting for him to help her and he'd been busy feeling sorry for himself. He wanted to apologize, to beg for her forgiveness, to admit that his selfishness might have caused her additional time at Howie's mercy.

But before he could, her hands pulled free of his. Her face remained down, turned away so that he couldn't even tell if her eyes were open. Rather than another escape attempt, Olivia did exactly the last thing Elliot expected, although it was absolutely welcome. She reached for him, stretching her arms around his waist, shifting into his side, pushing him to lay down, pressing her face into his neck.

He wasn't sure what had caused the change, but he wasn't going to knock it. Not when it was so reassuring to him to find out that he was a source of some sort of comfort to her in her hysteria. He pressed a kiss against her hair and promised himself that he wouldn't allow the discomfort of lying on a hard wood floor to bother him under the circumstances.

Her voice was muffled by his skin when she spoke, but he doubted hearing it at full volume would have made the cracked, broken sound resemble his partner's voice any better. "I'm glad you're here, El."

He tightened his arms around her. "So am I." Finally letting out a sigh of relief, he figured he could sleep standing up as long as Olivia continued to be able to fight her way clear of the demons.

When she spoke again, though, her words made his blood run cold.

"We'll never get out of here. No one will ever find us."

Any joy he felt in having reached her disappeared in the cloud of disappointment. He was no closer to getting through to her. She was still locked in that dungeon, scared so far out of her mind that she thought he was there with her. All he could do was hold her and promise her that everything was ok.

Even though he knew he was lying to her.


	45. Day Eleven, part 4

Day Eleven, cont'd

Day Eleven, cont'd

It wasn't really all that long before Olivia's death grip on him loosened. Between her terror and the painfully early hour, Elliot assumed she'd drifted back to sleep. He guessed the stress of everything was enough for her exhaustion to outweigh what had to be intense pain of her thin arm sandwiched between his weight and the floor. He wasn't even able to pretend it was comfortable enough for him to sleep with the way she'd positioned them. But he ha no desire whatsoever to disturb her and so didn't dare move a muscle. He concentrated on willing the throw rug, the edge of which was digging into his left shoulder blade, out of existence.

With his mind as preoccupied as it was on Olivia's choice of floor covering, he didn't notice her position shift.

But he couldn't deny the sound of her voice, not even as timid and small as it sounded. "I'm sorry."

Her apology was even less expected than her consciousness had been. It took him a moment to attempt to make sense of what he'd heard, and that moment didn't help at all. "What?"

Sitting up and extracting her arm from under him, she sniffled and rubbed her eyes. "You don't deserve this."

His body followed suit, relieving the painful pressure on his back as he sat up. With a crooked smile and a feigned confusion, he shrugged. "I knew it was too good to be true that you liked to snuggle."

Her expression didn't ease at all with his joke. She shook her head at nothing. Her whole body moved away, carefully folding up into itself, denying him any hint or hope of contact. "I'm sorry, El. I'm so sorry." She folded her arms across her knees and dropped her face down.

In all their years of partnership, Elliot had never quite had the luxury of completely understanding her, but that was the first moment he'd ever faced the idea that he might never achieve such a feat as figuring out just what was rolling through her brain. Psychoanalysis wasn't his cup of tea on a good day, but in the middle of the night, after far too many days without quite enough sleep, he didn't expect that he could even fake it.

If there was one thing he knew about Olivia, it was that she prized her personal space, so he respected the boundaries she'd established. His eyes were the only thing that moved, fixing on her temple since it was the only part of her face that he could see. He really wanted to make eye contact, to remind her that the link between them was never, could never be, broken. So many times the mere sight of the other's eyes had said everything that needed to be said, so many years of denying what flowed between them, so many lies proven untrue in one honest moment of looking at one another. He needed one of those moments, when he could hold her eyes and remind her that she wasn't alone, that he could never leave her, that their feelings for each other were simply too strong to ever fully dissipate.

But her eyes remained hidden from his, denying him the reassurance that he needed as badly as she did at that moment. "What are you sorry for?"

She remained unresponsive so long that he started to wonder if she had fallen back asleep. And even when she did answer, her slight shrug was hardly worth the wait.

And it pissed him off. Because it was the middle of the night. Because she'd begged him to keep her out of the hospital. Because he'd been through hell without her. Because he had no intention of watching her go through hell without letting him help.

"Damn it, Olivia!" As soon as his shout passed his lips he regretted it, but he was no more in control when he slammed his fists into the floor, hissing in pain when he was quite suddenly reminded of the shape of his broken hand. "Fuck, Olivia! Give me something to work with."

Her head lifted slowly, her eyes downcast, her chin trembling, her eyes wet with tears. "I'm sorry."

He threw his head back, staring at the ceiling as he counted to ten. Strangling her was not going to get him anywhere; at least, that was what he promised himself. Unfortunately, as he lowered his head back down and saw her dejected face, he realized he wasn't necessarily going to get anywhere no matter what he tried.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Although his voice had softened, his tone was still laced with anger. He didn't see any point in hiding it. Olivia had always been able to see through him.

She started to shrug again, but thought better of it in the middle of the gesture. Her eyes darted up to his for only a second, spotting the incensed glare forming on his face at her answer. Rethinking her response, she forced out words that were just as likely to be true as they were to be something she hoped would calm him down. "I'm apologizing because I keep pissing you off." She ducked her face back down, resting her forehead on her arms once again.

He shook his head in disbelief – that she would care that she'd pissed him off, that she would expect him to buy it. "You were sorry before I was angry, Liv."

With a sigh, she unfolded slightly, lifting her head and shoulders up. "Would you believe that I knew you were going to get mad?"

"No." His voice and his face remained stoic, but her attempt at humor raised his spirits more than she would ever know. The irritated, sarcastic response told him that she was still in there, somewhere, hiding behind the fear Howie had instilled in her.

There was a quiet moment, one in which she seemed to find her own voice. When she spoke, her words were soft, but Elliot was heartened to recognize his partner's familiar voice. "I didn't know." She lifted her hand, motioning vaguely in his direction. "When I asked you to let me come home, I didn't know it would be like this."

The corners of her mouth turned down and Elliot hated that he could only watch as she tried to fight back tears. His instinct was to soothe her, to reach for her, to comfort her. But he wasn't sure that his touch would be welcome and therefore didn't dare make any move toward her.

She managed to fight through it, gaining control before any moisture escaped her eyes. But her gaze was fixed somewhere on the floor and she didn't even blink. "I didn't know I'd be this scared."

He opened his mouth to speak, to assure her that he was perfectly fine with helping her, but her eyes snapped to his, her intense, piercing stare silencing him.

"How come you're so fine with what happened?" She paused, obviously expecting an answer that Elliot was unprepared to give.

Huang had told him not to dispute her claims, but he hadn't offered any suggestions for how to deal with a question like that. And Elliot wasn't about to lie to her. Instead he chewed on his lip for a minute, saying a quick, hopeless prayer for some sort of divine inspiration.

Unexpected as it was, divine inspiration did strike. Except that it struck Olivia.

Her eyes slipped downward as her brow furrowed. She was a detective, an investigator. She was used to putting pieces together, even when the pieces didn't seem to fit. When her eyes met his again, they were hopeful and curious, but still uncertain, still looking for his support. "You weren't there, were you?"

He shook his head, a small smile forming on his lips. It had to mean something that she'd come that far on her own. It had to mean something that she'd gotten there so quickly and, with the exception of a very short period of time with Huang while she was eating her dinner, without anyone's help. "No, Liv, I wasn't." Knowing that she was no longer scared of him, he slid over beside her and let his hand rest against her leg. "I was looking for you." He was more encouraged by the fact that she hadn't pushed him away. He lifted his hand from her leg, gently tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips.

For that brief period, the pain, the circumstances, the uncertainty, faded away, and he marveled at the idea that he was finally, actually touching her. She wasn't scared and seeking his reassurance. She wasn't hysterical and in need of physical restraint. She wasn't a terrified victim looking for mercy from anyone willing to give it. No, she was Olivia. His friend, his partner, his Olivia. And she was letting him touch her so tenderly without reproach.

Free of the physical sensation that had overwhelmed any true sense of the situation as it happened in the crib, Elliot's mind was reeling from the intimacy. Regardless of having told Huang, regardless of having danced around the subject with Olivia, regardless of having replayed the event in his mind, somehow he'd avoided fully grasping what had happened between them. His mind had focused instead on the thought that he'd raped her and thus had never really moved on to accepting the change. All the fantasies in the world wouldn't have had such an effect on him.

Instead, it was while he sat there, his skin barely touching hers, watching her work through a problem that he finally got it.

He wanted to reach for her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. He wanted to kiss her and love her and worship her body in a way he hadn't the first time. He wanted to snuggle with her and laugh from the sheer joy of it. But he couldn't.

Because she wasn't there yet.

Because she was way behind him in the process.

Because she hadn't had any time at all to comprehend what had happened, let alone ponder any permanent changes to their status.

Because she was so injured that she didn't even realize there was a permanent change in their status. She'd been seeking comfort and reassurance and support from him, from her partner, from someone she felt safe with. And he realized with a sickening conviction that her acquiescence to his touch would have occurred two weeks or two years earlier. That she was allowing him to touch her had nothing to do with accepting him into her life as a lover. She was simply looking for and accepting physical proof that she was there with him rather than Howie.

She turned to look at him, blissfully oblivious to the thoughts floating through his mind. She had her own issues and was looking to him for the answers she couldn't find. "Why did I think you were there?" She shook her head for a moment and then met his gaze again. "Why do I remember you being there?"

Unfortunately, Elliot was distracted by the crushing idea that he'd have to go through the whole thing again, that he'd have to wait until she was feeling better to bring up their relationship, that he'd have to continue on in limbo as he'd done while she was gone, without really knowing what would happen with them. He answered her without giving it much thought, without being careful. "Maybe it made you feel better to think I was there."

She didn't seem scarred and fragile. She seemed almost annoyed. "Why would that make me feel better? To think you were trapped in there too. You think it would make me feel better to know something bad happened to you too?"

"No, that's not what I meant." The sudden shift of her mood left him completely unsure as to what she wanted to hear. So, as usual, he said something that he intended to clarify his words. And no matter how many years he'd known her, he forgot, like always, that they were utterly incapable of communicating when one of them was upset. "Maybe thinking I was there made you feel safe when he was hurting you."

Her scowl told him exactly what she thought of his words, but she elaborated anyway. "Right, like that makes any sense."

Perhaps it was the dismissive tone. Perhaps it was the stress. Perhaps it was years of following ingrained behaviors. Whatever it was, he opened his mouth and said something stupid, as he was prone to do whenever he fought with her. "You're the one who thought it, so why the hell are you asking me what it means?"

"Fuck you." She glared at him as she stood up, seeming to dare him to answer her back.

But sense dawned on him when he saw the way she favored her shoulder, reminding him that she was the injured party, both physically and mentally. He stood up, taking a small step toward her as he reached out, half in an attempt to make peace, half because he really needed to feel her solid form to convince himself that she was really home.

"Liv, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"His words trailed off as he realized they were pointless at the same time as she backed away from his outstretched hand. "Please, Liv. I'm sorry."

"Whatever." She was looking at anything but him, something she usually did when she was particularly angry with him and entirely unable to do anything about it. "I'm going to bed." She didn't wait for a response before she turned away and started walking.

He caught up with her in two steps, reaching for her hand, stopping her in her tracks with that soft touch. "What did he do to you?" He didn't know why he was asking, not when she was so clearly pissed off at him, but he felt like if he had that much information, he would be that much more prepared to deal with her.

But Olivia was done talking for the night, snatching her hand out of his so fast that she wound up grabbing her shoulder in pain from the motion. She didn't even look at him. "I don't want to talk about it." Without waiting for another word, she stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door.


	46. Day Eleven, part 5

Day Eleven, cont'd

Day Eleven, cont'd

Elliot spent a good long time staring at the closed door which kept Olivia from his sight. After having gone through hell for a week while thinking of all the things he wanted to say and change and cherish, he couldn't quite believe that he was standing there in her hall, five yards from her bed, five yards from her, five yards from holding onto the one thing that could keep him sane.

Quite frankly, he wasn't sure why he hadn't ripped the door off the hinges at the mere suggestion that it would separate them.

Although having made it through the last week, during which he'd proven time and again that he would try, even if he eventually failed, to demolish any barrier between them, he was surprised he hadn't thought of tearing the door apart sooner. And the fact that she'd been pissed off and storming away from him, despite what's she'd been through, convinced him that she'd survive the surprise of seeing him reject her request for space.

The idea breathed life into his body, carrying him right up to the door. But rather than throwing the door open hard enough to wedge the doorknob into the plaster of the opposite wall, he watched his hand lift up to tap lightly against the wood. Maybe, he realized, his hand hadn't been any more convinced by her behavior than the rest of him had been.

"Liv?" He tapped again very lightly. He turned the knob slowly, peeking through the crack that slowly widened as he pushed the door open. On the off chance that she really had felt enough like herself to go right to sleep, he didn't want to wake her. But he needed to be sure, to know for certain that she was ok, before he turned his back.

Rather than a dark room and a nondescript lump under her blanket, his eyes found the room lit by the small lamp on the bedside table. The dim glow illuminated her outline, her hunched frame perched on the edge of the bed just inside the door. There wasn't enough light to see her face, but he was easily able to see what he needed to see.

She lifted her head, laying aside the piece of paper she'd been holding. "I thought you'd left."

The first response that occurred to him was to laugh at the mere suggestion, but he couldn't find anything funny when it came down to it. Instead he stepped through the door, determining from her words, from her position, from her silent acceptance, that she wasn't really all that angry with him. He sat down beside her, allowing ample space between them so she wouldn't feel crowded or threatened. "No, I'm still here."

He didn't mean to, but his hand accidentally brushed the paper she'd been holding. It caught his attention as it fluttered to the ground. Stooping to pick it up, he realized for the first time what it was, what she'd been staring at while he'd been staring at the closed door. It was one of the photographs from Mackay, the one he'd left on the table beside her bed, the one he'd practically forgotten about with everything that had happened since he'd looked at it. As it had every time he'd looked at it, the image transfixed him.

It was still amazing, he realized, even knowing that their problems communicating, because Mackay captured a quiet moment, in between their words, where they were just staring into one another's eyes. He could see the connection between them. He could feel it. Fuck communication. They didn't need it. They just needed to look at each other.

He laid aside the photo because he knew there were more important things to be dealt with at that moment. His hand closed over hers, pressing only hard enough to assure her of his presence, not trying in any way to cage her or force the issues between them. He intended simply to offer her whatever strength she could garner from sitting beside him. She needed that from him, he realized. Right then, having been through the previous week, she needed to know that her partner was there to lean on, to rely on, to depend on. And that was what he knew he needed to remember – she needed her partner, not whatever it was he'd become that day in the crib.

"I'm here, Liv." He smiled when her head turned toward him. "I'm not going anywhere ever. I mean it."

She nodded slowly. "I know. I'm just- I don't know, confused, I guess." She was quiet for a moment before she smirked. "Although that much is probably pretty obvious to you, huh?"

For quite possibly the first time in their partnership, he knew exactly what to say, how to comfort her. And as much as he knew he needed to say it, as resigned as he was to the fact that he would never deny her anything that was in his power to give her, it still took every ounce of altruism he could scrounge up in his body. Because to give her the very thing she required of him was to deny himself what he wanted so very badly. But just as he'd promised himself so very many times while she was gone, he wasn't about to deny her.

He shifted over, closer to her, setting aside the photograph for a later explanation. "Look, I know you've been through hell, Liv." He paused for a moment, trying to take the idea, which was beyond perfect in his head, and turn it into something that would make sense to her. Without it sounding like a rejection. Because that was the last thing he wanted her to think.

He winced as he tried to find a way around what had seemed like the ultimate stroke of wisdom only moments prior. Finally, he cleared his throat and started again. "We need to talk about what happened." Although she'd counseled him otherwise, the familiar weight of guilt still threatened to collapse onto his shoulders at the idea. "I know we touched on it earlier, but telling me you're not sending me to prison is hardly going to settle things."

Olivia wasn't looking at him, rather she was studying his hand where it was lying over hers. Without any warning, she yanked hers away, obviously preferring to twist it around in her lap. "El, I don't-"

Unperturbed, he reached over, stilling both of her hands in her lap. "I wasn't finished." When she offered no argument, verbal or physical, he folded his hand around hers once again. "What happened, what it means, where we go from there, whatever, we do need to talk about it." His face turned toward her, finding the nervous way she worried her lip at the thought hopelessly endearing. "But that can wait."

Shocked by his announcement, her head jerked up, her eyes meeting his as her mouth dropped open. "It can?" He couldn't recall her ever sounding so happy about anything ever.

With a reassuring nod, he smiled. "I think there are other things that you, that we, need to deal with first, ok?" It about broke his heart to say it, but he had to acknowledge that the blatant relief on her face made him feel much better about the whole thing. "Once we get through this, we can come back to our personal issues."

She nodded slowly, although her sudden lack of enthusiasm told him that her mind was hardly made up. Her voice was soft again, as though voicing her thoughts was nearly beyond her strength. "You want to forget about it." Her nodding, which had started as an appropriate response to his words, continued as she tried to convince herself. "Yeah, that's probably the best idea. It was a mistake. We shouldn't have-"

He let go of her hand, choosing instead to slide his fingers around her cheek, forcing her to look at him while he physically reassured her with his touch. "That's not what I said."

"But-"

"That's not what I meant either." He shook his head before she got any further, sliding his thumb over her lips to silence her. "And, for the record, that's not what I want."

She offered no more protests and he found that encouraging. So he shifted a bit closer, his side coming in contact with hers as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Right now, just for right now, I'm your partner. The same way I've always been. Nothing else. So if you want to talk or not talk or demand that I buy you food or-"

"Punch someone?" Her voice revealed her smile, but he couldn't see it since she'd rested her head against his chest.

"Yeah, that too." He tightened his arm, squeezing her into his side in a way neither one of them bothered to mention that he never would have done before. "Anything you want. Just let me know."

"So would now be a good time to mention that you're killing my shoulder?"

He jerked away, realizing that putting pressure on her injured, and only partially treated, shoulder was probably a lot more painful than she let on. But even after he'd released her, she stayed tucked against him, leaning her head down. He leaned down as well, letting his chin rest on her hair. "I do have to say that I'd be particularly thankful if any other requests could wait until we get a little sleep because I'm really fucking tired."

She laughed, nodding as she pulled away. "Yeah, I think I can agree to that." But as she crawled toward the head of the bed and pushed her feet under the covers, Elliot saw her pull her bottom lip in between her teeth again, a sure sign she had something else to say.

He said a silent prayer that it not be a question about her sheets because he suspected they'd long since mildewed in her washer and he really didn't want to explain why. "What, Liv?"

"Can I make one tiny request before you go to sleep?"

"Yeah, sure. One. As long as it's tiny." As he spoke, he moved around to the side of the bed, turned off the light, and slid into the space beside her.

"Never mind."

He winced as the guilt surrounded him once more. "It's ok, Liv. What?"

She shifted around, nestling herself next to him in practically the same way she'd been sitting. "I was just going to ask you to stay."

He grinned into the darkness, wondering if Huang's gift for mind reading had rubbed off on him. Or maybe it was sheer luck that his completely selfish act had turned out to be precisely what Olivia had wanted. "Night, Liv." He waited to hear her response, but she was already asleep.

And he knew, as he held her close, that she was already starting to heal.

Splintered.4


	47. Day Fourteen, part 1

Day Fourteen

Day Fourteen

Never in her life could Olivia remember ever being so unbelievably exhausted. It had been three days since Elliot had busted through the wall in Howie's basement and Olivia hadn't slept more than forty-five minutes at a time. Elliot had been a trooper; she had to give him credit. Although she hadn't really been in the mood to mention it, he'd looked like shit when she'd finally looked at him in the emergency room and he had gotten the same amount of, if not less, sleep than she had. He was clearly exhausted himself, but he never said a word about it. Besides a few replies lost in yawns, and the dark circles under his eyes, he gave no indication that he needed or wanted anything other than whatever suggestion she was making at any given moment.

One thing Olivia had come to accept over the years, the one thing as reliable as the rising sun, was that Elliot was a bear when he was sleep deprived. But her world was upside down and so was Elliot's apparently, because as tired as he was, Elliot had never been nicer to her. And it was really creepy. Because the thing she wanted most of all was for something to feel like it had before. Before she became a victim.

Partners. They were just partners. That was their deal. Part of her had been relieved at his suggestion because she really hadn't had enough time to deal with the idea, the possibility, of them being anything more. By the time the shock of the encounter had faded, she was already well entrenched in another, more traumatic, more damaging experience. Not to mention the fact that she'd been so damn angry at him that she hadn't considered much beyond shooting the man. A few days in Howie's care and suddenly Elliot's transgression didn't seem so bad. At least not in those terrible, horrifying hours when she'd truly feared that she might never see him again. And, really, during those brief seconds she allowed herself to think about it, before she could remember that she'd sworn she wouldn't, she saw the whole thing from a completely difference perspective than she had originally, when it happened, while it was happening, and afterwards – with the notable exception of a few seconds of an embrace and a kiss that still made her toes curl – she'd been so furious with Elliot that even having sex with him wasn't enough to break through the anger. And, of course, he'd hardly revealed a soft side by being slow and caring. Not that she could blame him. She'd been so pissed off that she would have run him through had he let her see a weak spot.

The incredible wrath burned itself out quickly, faced with her incarceration in Howie's world. A few hours, a few days, hell, she couldn't tell how long it had taken, but she was well aware of the fact that the first time Howie snuggled up to her, she'd wanted Elliot. Wanted him there with her, not simply because she had no doubt he would kill any man who touched her against her will, but because she'd missed him, because in those almost inconceivably short moments they'd shared an embrace, she'd become addicted to being in his arms, because in all honesty she'd been addicted to the idea of being cradled in his strong arms for years, long before it had been even remotely possible.

Though it hadn't exactly been the sort of rendezvous that was written about in romance novels, though it had initially shaken her so deeply, she knew he hadn't intended to be so rough, to hurt her, to finally act on their attraction in such an animalistic manner. She'd seen it in those moments after, when he'd fixed her hair, when he'd kissed her so tenderly. But mostly, and this was the part that affected her far more deeply than a hard fuck had, she'd seen it in the dramatic way he'd changed. She knew there was a perfectly reasonable chance that it had been her abduction that changed him, simply because they'd never been through something like that in all the time they'd been partners, but Olivia staunchly believed that it had been the night in the crib that had transformed him. Perhaps her abduction had merely brought the changes to the surface.

He'd been so scared. Tough act in place as always, he'd been terrified to look her in the eye. She'd been through hell and just wanted to crawl into his arms and let him protect her the way he'd always tried, and in keeping with their timing which always seemed to be exactly opposite one another, he'd been afraid. Of her. Of himself. Of the feelings she stirred in him that he'd only recently revealed were out of his control. She'd reassured him, at least she'd tried, that nothing had happened that she hadn't consented to, but she wasn't entirely sure he really believed her.

But she just didn't have the strength to fight back those demons he'd always harbored, or to fix what someone had obviously broke in him so very long ago, so she let it go. He'd promised not to leave her and she'd promised Huang, in one of the most embarrassing conversations of her life, that Elliot had not raped her, and therefore she expected the mess of their relationship was settled enough for the meantime.

Unfortunately, Elliot was so nice and careful and sweet and thoughtful that Olivia couldn't help thinking that she was really, really, really messed up. Because no matter how she looked at it, she couldn't reconcile the fierce, passionate man that threw her against the wall and fucked her with the quiet, gentle guy who'd stocked her freezer with ten cartons of rocky road lest she run out. For her to make Before Elliot and After Elliot be the same Elliot, she figured that she herself had to very, very different.

And, since she had to face Huang everyday or deal with a pleading, frightened Elliot, she steered the therapy sessions to focus on how she had changed, rather than on what had changed her.

Huang was distinctly uncomfortable with the subject, which amused Olivia to no end. Huang wasn't easily swayed by the things they'd told him over the years, but he got a strange look on his face and half of his muscles tensed whenever she managed to mention her and Elliot and the crib. As embarrassing as it had been for her at first, she was determined to put it back on him. Besides, the simple fact was if she kept trying to talk about it, Huang would have no doubt that she was perfectly comfortable with what had happened, which in turn would keep him from figuring out that she really wasn't.

Her discomfort with the topic had nothing to do with Elliot or his behavior. She trusted him implicitly and, had she resisted, had she tried to stop him, she knew without question that Elliot would have stopped. He'd grabbed her and held her and touched her and fucked her because she'd let him, because she'd wanted him to. Her problem was that the ire, the control, the violence, of the act turned her on. She'd never felt anything like the release he'd coaxed from her body and it horrified her. She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't like what it said about her. And there was a solid part of her that feared she'd destroyed any real chance of a relationship with Elliot by enjoying what had clearly haunted him. That was something that she wasn't about to discuss with anyone. Not ever.

But like usual, Huang was able to tamp down his discomfort and focus on hers, immediately seeing through her attempts to distract him.

He shifted in his chair, swapping his crossed legs and rebalancing his notepad on his left knee without ever breaking eye contact. He didn't even blink; just stared at her, through her, with his unwavering attention. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She tried to distract him while she continued to build up the imaginary wall between them. "Talk about what?" She wondered what it was he was noting occasionally on his pad and suspected strongly that it might be a grocery list. Convincing herself of that made her feel better about playing stupid and trying to lie her way through another visit.

Completely unbelieving of her sudden stupidity, he gave her a measured half smile. Enough to assure that he was friendly. Enough to let her know that he wasn't going to let her get away with it. "Elliot was extremely upset about it. Talking about it helped him a lot. Maybe it will help you too."

She mirrored his half smile, but her eyes were far more guarded and it seemed more of a threat than reassurance. "Isn't that privileged?"

Although his smile faltered into a frown for a millisecond, he recovered quickly. "He gave me permission to talk to you about it. He was concerned about how you perceived the experience."

She wanted to congratulate him for hitting the nail on the head, but her poker face held. She stared at Huang for a long time, as though staring him down would prove anything. After an awkward silence, she folded and let her eyes drop to the table between them. "When I was in the fourth grade, I wrote this report on horses and I remember reading that they only blink every thirty seconds or so. Apparently, humans usually blink every five seconds."

Finally, Huang rewarded her with a baffled look that only lasted long enough for him to switch his legs around again. "Did something happen in the fourth grade that you want to talk about?"

She let out the nervous laugh that had been threatening, finishing it off by clearing her throat, feeling certain that every pause wasted more of the carefully measured time. "No, George. I was just wondering if one of your ancestors might have been a horse."

He rewarded her effort with a chuckle and a glance that shifted off hers for a precious second. "I'll make a note of that to follow up with the ophthalmologist."

"Good. Wouldn't want anything to ruin that piercing stare of yours." She squirmed in her seat as she muttered, realizing for the first time what it was like for suspects in interrogation who tried to stare down Elliot.

He nodded, giving her a bit of the time she seemed to be requesting. "So, back to the fourth grade. Want to tell me about it?"

She shook her head, wondering why she'd mentioned something that meant absolutely nothing while questioning if maybe it did. Why had she brought it up? And then she remembered she was trying to distract him. Waste time until Elliot got sick of the magazine he was reading in her bedroom and wandered into the kitchen for a drink, at which point she could ask him for one, which would lead to him inquiring if they were finished, when she would nod and say, quite convincingly in her mind, that she thought so. She figured therapy hours counted as much as results really, and so, when Huang showed up, she never let Elliot take more than one magazine with him. God forbid she actually had to open up.

With a sigh, she sat back. "Well, Cindy Baker was my best, best, best friend of all time, or at least the month of March, because she sat in front of me and let me look over her shoulder in Earth Science. And then there was Nicky, who was just as hot as nine-year-old boys could be in my mind." She paused, actually smiling at the thought of how giddy Nicky's smile had made her feel. "Oh, and we can't forget Alyson Bradley. She sat behind me and paused me notes about how Nicky liked her more."

Taking the bait, Huang grinned. "Now why would anyone like Alyson better?"

The grin fell from Olivia's face as she realized that like most of her stories about any random thing at all, this one wound up sucking too. "She pointed out that her teeth were white and mine weren't because my mother hadn't told me to brush my teeth for a few months and it's really not something nine-year-olds usually come up with on their own." She stopped for a moment, but seeing Huang's wince out of the corner of her eye, she figured the more she talked about something that really was about the least of her problems, the less she had to discuss the real ones. "So I decided that dirty teeth were better than no teeth and I clocked her in the face with my science book." With a proud grin, she looked up at Huang. "Took out two of her front teeth too. She got a bridge put in that didn't quite match the rest of her pristine smile."

Huang nodded, making a note that Olivia could only assume added toothpaste to his list. "Did that get Nicky's attention?"

"No, he thought I was a freak, but it got the teacher's attention and she got the principle's attention and he suspended my ass for three weeks. And when I came back, Alyson and Cindy were best friends." A thought occurred to her suddenly and she couldn't hold back the laugh, a real one, not the nervous one from earlier.

Huang's curiosity was piqued and he smiled. "What?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Come on, if something's making you laugh over a story as heartbreaking as that one-"

"Heartbreaking to a fourth grader. Amusing to the rest of us." She shook her head again, but found her mouth opening anyway. "I was just thinking how Nicky didn't appreciate my violent streak."

Huang shook his head, as though Olivia's nonsense had managed to short-circuit something inside. "And that's funny?"

"It is when you think about how Elliot would have reacted." She laughed again, imagining a thick mop of brown hair and bright blue eyes and a wide smile at Olivia's problem solving capabilities.

And then Huang's eyes seemed to glisten once again. "You think Elliot likes violence?"

The question stopped her laughter and sucked the smile right off her face. She hadn't been thinking that at all. She'd only been thinking that Elliot would probably be amused by the story. But the idea that Huang had planted, that she'd brought up the fourth grade for a reason, that she'd come up with that particular story out of her whole life's repertoire, that mentioning how Huang didn't blink was somehow all planned in her subconscious, bloomed, leading them back to discuss the rough sex she'd so thoroughly enjoyed with Elliot as though she'd secretly wanted to the whole time.

She shook her head once, finding her voice thick and uncooperative when she tried to speak around the lump in her throat. "No, I don't."

"Do you like violence?" His eyes may have been blinking up a storm, but Olivia would never have noticed.

Her eyes were locked on her lap, watching the image of her twisting hands mist over as tears formed. Her voice wouldn't work, but it didn't really matter. She didn't know what to say anyway.

Splintered.5


	48. Day Fourteen, part 2

Day Fourteen, part 2

Upset by Huang's question, by the possibility that he somehow knew the idea scared her, by the chance, however remote, that it was true, Olivia clung to her silence like a security blanket until the tears stopped. Violence, sex, sadomasochism - it wasn't exactly a new issue in her life. She'd grappled with the concept, with the knowledge, with the fear, tat something dark and ugly and unforgiveable was a part of her, built right into her DNA along with her brown eyes and long legs. And, adding insult to injury, she'd openly discussed the fucking idea with Huang in the past, although he was playing it like he damn well didn't know.

She wasn't tough and fearless because she was strong; she'd suspected all her life that she'd become tough and fearless because she enjoyed the violence inherent in such a personality. It had only been the sex with Elliot that shined light on how deep the perverted desire ran. And it was timed perfectly to coincide with another crisis, robbing her of the chance to deal with the truth by herself, leaving her secret raw and open to serve as undeniable proof that she was every bit as rotten and revolting as she'd always feared, just as her mother had told her.

Yeah, the path was so well traveled in her mind, so familiar, that she almost missed it. While her instinct, the one her mother had taught her so well, was to crucify herself whenever she was presented with the opportunity, she'd learned something from Elliot over the years as well. If she was going down, she should take someone else down with her, especially if it was the person who'd shoved her off the cliff in the first place.

Her eyes narrowed as she focused her anger outward. "This is not your perfect fucking opportunity to psychoanalyze me." Her hiss even sounded like a warning to her. "I'm talking to you because I want my job and we both know you're the fastest way back to it." That was bullshit, but she was pretty damn sure that admitting the therapy was only to make Elliot feel better was hardly going to help matters any.

Huang obviously hadn't expected her outburst, not that he could have with the remarkably calm and reserved way she'd been acting since her return. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed, the concern apparent. He moved slowly, carefully easing back into his seat as though a sudden moment might invite her to pounce.

She wanted to find humor in it, if only in the image of what she was sure would be a ridiculously one-sided fight, but she couldn't. Because to do so would only prove it true – that she liked violence. So she sat with her jaw clamped shut, trying to keep herself from making a sound.

Clearly still afraid of garnering a vicious reaction, Huang's voice was soft. "Olivia," he paused, leaning his notebook up like a shield as he made another note on it. When she didn't attack, he continued softly. "Can you tell me why you're so angry?"

No. She couldn't. She was angry because what she'd been fighting all along was inevitability. Instead, she forced back the truth and the sarcastic comment that formed, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. "I'm not angry. I'm sorry if I made you think so."

Huang was emboldened by her attempt to remain civil; likely a person trying to be polite wasn't about to strike. He leaned forward again. "And I bet you're not tense either." He smirked, watching as she worked to unclench her jaw. "Why don't we talk about why you're upset?"

Matching his position, Olivia leaned forward. "Ok, fine." Playing stupid never got her anywhere. She didn't know why she even tried it. "I'm upset because you know damn well that I've questioned the basis for my violent tendencies and you know damn well that I don't want to be like him."

His glance fell to his list while he drew a deep breath and, at least according to Olivia, considering adding ear plugs to it. "Like who? Elliot?" He sounded genuinely confused.

And working with the fact that she'd never seen anyone manage to confuse the man, Olivia decided he was fucking with her. She wasn't about to give him anymore. "Why wouldn't I want to be like Elliot? He's strong and smart and courageous and empathetic and considerate and dependable. Jesus, he'd every damn thing anyone decent would want to be! What the fuck is wrong with you? If I thought I was going to turn out like Elliot, I wouldn't waste my fucking time talking to you!"

Once again in fear for his well being, Huang sat back, shrinking into the oversized chair. "I'm not trying to trick you. I really don't know who you're referring to."

If there was one word to describe George Huang, stupid wasn't it. Olivia didn't believe for one second that he didn't know she was talking about her father. Fuck, she'd talked to him about it several times over the years. He just wasn't that thick. "Who the hell do you think I'm talking about?" All of her anger and confusion and fear gathered into one giant blazing funnel of hatred that she directed at the man across from her.

Either he was truly afraid of her or he was actually rendered speechless by her incensed attitude. Whatever it was, Huang sat silently glued to his seat waiting for Olivia to explain her behavior, or for Olivia to give him something to work with, or, more infinitely preferable in a moment of weakness that he would never admit to, for Elliot to choose right then to emerge from the bedroom and interrupt them.

His silence only served to piss her off. Because proclivity of no, she'd always believed that she'd done a hell of a job keeping steady control of her temper and therefore, Huang's fear seemed like more of an insult. Unable to remain sitting, she jumped to her feet. "Get the hell out of my apartment!"

The ferocious roar of her voice was foreign, even to her ears. Huang's hands were clumsy and slow, his whole body trying to react to her command while also anticipating a physical hit. He wound up jumping to his feet with his precious shopping list skimming over the far edge of the table and resting on the floor at her feet. Although he was practically shaking as he reached for it, Olivia didn't back down. She didn't notice.

Her attention was on Elliot, who came sprinting from her bedroom at the sound of her raised voice. She'd ceased paying mind to the friend she'd bullied into submission at the sight of her partner. The fierce snarl on his face made her even angrier. She'd agreed to talk to Huang in the hopes that it would make things easier, not make them worse. But there was a furious man racing toward her and her eye was suddenly drawn to the forgotten man who was just standing up after retrieving the notebook in front of her.

Had Olivia thought about the situation for a minute, she would have known there was no reason to fear. But she was too mad for thinking. Instead only processing the rapidly approaching, irate man behind her and the somehow unexpected face before her. In that moment, there was only terror pulsing through her veins and only Howie in her thoughts. The idea of being sandwiched between them, the last two men on Earth she could ever had mistaken for the hulking, uncoordinated form of her kidnapper under any rational circumstance, gave her all the strength and speed she needed to escape. She sprang sideways, over the arm of the couch, leaping clear. She put a good ten feet between herself and the perceived threat before she dared a glance back. Her head turned slowly, dreading the point when she'd see him there, his looming bulk, his huge shoulders that blocked the dim light, his enormous arms that threatened to squash her, his clammy hands that touched her and sent shivers down her spine, his sweaty odor that made her choke until she drummed up Elliot's presence to chase away the demon.

But when she looked, when she finally forced her eyes to the man's approach, there was no need to pretend.

Elliot was taking slow, hesitant steps toward her, his hands raised with palms open to indicate that he was not going to hurt her. "Shhh, Liv, it's ok."

Utter shock at his words stopped the terrified scream she hadn't even heard. She noticed it retroactively from the way her ears rang in the silence that followed. Still shaking from adrenaline, she didn't even bother finding a wall against which to collapse. Her knees simply fell away under her. Elliot continued to move closer, closing the distance faster than she sank.

She might have been surprised by the warmth of his arms stopping her fall, except she was beyond thought. She was simply emotion, desperation particularly, as she fisted her hands in his shirt. Huang disappeared. Her living room disappeared. The floor under her disappeared. There was only Elliot. Only his arms that held her. Only his scent that surrounded her. Only his voice in her ears.

Only his strength that could save her.

Splintered.3


	49. Day Fifteen, part 1

Day Fifteen

Day Fifteen

The sun's morning rise over the skyline slowly cast a spectacular kaleidoscope of colors sliding across Olivia's living room, its beauty unseen by the sleeping occupants. The vivid red and pink glow eventually gave way to the more familiar orange glare that always woke her, on the rare occasion that she wasn't already, or still, at work. On those odd days, she tended to roll over and bury her face in the pillow to block out the unwanted light.

Except this time, there was no pillow. Not that she was complaining. While lacking in the feathery softness of her chenille-covered throw pillows, the rock hard plane of Elliot's chest was far more soothing. She could only assume she'd passed out in his arms, crying herself to sleep while remaining oblivious to what was going on around her. Elliot's right hand rested on her hip. A quick visual check revealed no bruises or broken skin. Elliot's left arm was under her, his splinted hand stretched out somewhere behind her, but, as far as fighting was concerned, it was more or less useless in its current state. She knew Huang had left of his own accord, without needing the encouragement of a beating that Elliot probably wouldn't have wanted to give him anyway.

So while her insane response to Huang had no doubt made trouble for her future as a cop, at least she hadn't dragged Elliot into it. She hadn't really been threatened, and with the benefit of retrospect, Olivia realized her own fear had blinded her to the fact that Huang wasn't actually a mind-reader. Although the leaps in logic had been intuitive for her, since the horror of her paternity was never far from her mind, Huang only had what she'd give him, which at the moment, had been some bullshit about a childish tantrum over a thirty-year-old crush. God, she was a fucking idiot. A world-class jackass. Taking out her own inadequacy on the poor man who was trying to help her. If she ever got her gun back, she needed to shoot herself in the foot. It would be less disruptive and painful to the people around her.

Trying to shield herself from both her thoughts and the light, she angled her face up. Her cheek felt cold the moment she lift it from his shirt, but she quickly found warmth and shadow by burrowing her face against his neck. Elliot shifted slightly in his sleep, bringing his head down to rest on hers. That moment blocked the rest of the unwelcome sunshine and she sighed in contentment. The deep breath which followed was thick with Elliot's scent, sending a shiver of heat through her body.

She'd spent the previous five nights curled in Elliot's arms. Due to her recent bent toward hysteria, she'd spent a lot of the days there too. But she'd been scared, too upset to feel anything but comfort in his embrace. Well, mostly comfort with a helping of embarrassment at her own frailty and desperation.

But something had changed. Her inexplicably racing heart made her well aware of the fact. The idea of returning to sleep vanished from her mind so quickly that she wasn't sure if she'd ever meant to. Those other nights, days too, Elliot had been the first to pull away. If she happened to be asleep, he'd accidentally woken her when he got up. If she'd been awake, he'd pulled away, checking to make sure that she was ok before he suggested food or television or a shower or whatever random thing that might put space between them.

Wide awake, she had the chance to consider it, to review the evidence she had, to put the pieces together and see what the picture turned out to be. It was what she did. It was what she was good at. Her heart was pounding away, her palms were sweating, and the heat that had coursed through her settled uncomfortably between her legs. She didn't need to be a detective to know she was turned on, the perfectly sculpted body of her partner taunting her with its proximity. Flashes from that day forced their way to the surface of her mind, and she unwilling remembered the way his fingers had felt on her skin, the way his arms had surrounded her to both cage and protect her, the way his body felt against hers when he was inside of her.

She shivered again, hot and cold at the same time, recalling the brutal way he'd pounded his body into her, remembering the primal way he'd claimed her, almost feeling the way he'd cradled her in the moments after.

Her breath was coming in short pants and she had to lift her face, unable to pull enough air from the tiny space next to his neck to keep up with her excited body. His lips were so close to hers, his mouth slightly open, his breath fell against her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, meaning to get control of herself and instead only coming up with more sensations, the pressure of his mouth on hers, the taste of his tongue sliding into her mouth. It felt real, as though it were all happening again.

With a gasp, she realized the memories were just that – memories, despite the fact that they were so strong, so real, that her body was reacting just as quickly as it had to the real thing. No, there was no question at all in her mind that it hadn't been rape. Fuck, she was willing to reenact every last bit of it. She glanced at his eyes, still closed in sleep, and wondered if he'd mind being kissed awake. As a grin worked its way across her face, she knew better. She doubted there was a man on Earth who would object to being woken up by a woman straddling him who wanted to fuck him senseless.

Partners.

The word, the thought, hit her like a brick. They were partners, he'd said, nothing else. Nothing more.

So while he wouldn't mind a quick fuck to get him out of bed, she knew that was all it would be. If she offered, he would accept. A physical encounter would seal the deal. She'd be his best friend with benefits. Most of the time, they weren't very good at the friends part, so likely, she'd just be his benefits. His fuck buddy. And she wouldn't be able to blame him – they had a spoken agreement from a scant few days earlier. He didn't want more; he wanted to be friends.

Partners.

It ought to be a four-letter word.

She ducked down, trying to get a hold of herself, of her emotions, of her raging desire. While her body wouldn't care what deal they had, her mind would. Because without conscious thought, she'd resolved any uncertainty as to what she wanted from him. Because she had enough friends. She only needed to calm herself down and then she could sneak away from him. She wouldn't dare try while her cheeks were still flaming red from the idea of his touch; he'd managed to wake her every single day when he got up. And she wasn't ready to face him, not when the idea of looking in his eyes was enough to make her moan.

He stirred again, the fates laughing at her. His hand slipped from her hip, moving up to her waist, then around to her back where her shirt had twisted up, allowing his warm hand to skim across her bare skin. He mumbled something unintelligible, his chest rumbling under her ear. She looked up at his face, bracing herself for that moment of understanding when he knew what she wanted and waited for her to let them both have it. But his eyes were closed, and she could see them darting back and forth under his eyelids. He was dreaming, but she knew it wouldn't be for long.

She leaned back, deciding hiding her humiliation would be less unbearable if she was across the room rather than stretched against him when he realized it. His torso followed her, though, keeping them pressed together. And as if cautioning her against trying anything else, his leg did the same, sliding forward, over hers, securing her hips against his.

She knew what was coming and she tried to steel herself against it, but there was only a moment before she felt it, another involuntary movement of his body, the length of him hardening, enticing her, teasing her. She felt tears threatening and she tried one last time to keep herself from falling apart.

And just when she thought she had the strength to pull away, his face shifted closer to hers, her name escaping from his lips so softly she was pretty sure she was the one dreaming. Then his lips found her skin, lightly brushing her forehead, his breath causing her hair to flutter away from her face for a moment.

She couldn't help it. She couldn't. No one could have. It was entrapment, pure and simple. A low, desperate, almost pleading groan fell from her mouth, revealing every bit of the desire still wound up in her body. She was only human, forced into an impossible situation, so close to what she wanted to badly, knowing full well that she couldn't have it, at least not the way she wanted it.

Mortification was the least of her problems. She had to get away from him before she acted on her feelings, before she proved to him exactly how sick and depraved she was, before he realized he could do whatever he wanted to her body and she was pathetic enough to keep coming back for more even knowing that he only wanted her for sex.

But before she could move, his hand abandoned her back and blazed a trail to her neck, then her cheek. His coordination was decidedly better than any sleeping man she'd ever encountered and she recognized that fact, but it wasn't particularly helpful. Nor was knowing that she should run away helpful when that same hand slipped into her hair and titled her face up. There was only one thing that she noticed in the brief moment before his mouth closed over hers.

His clear blue eyes were wide open, the dilated pupils letting her know that he was well aware of her reaction to him, his possessive hold on her telling her that he didn't expect an argument.

Splintered.3


	50. Day Fifteen, part 2

Day Fifteen, cont'd

Day Fifteen, cont'd

Olivia had learned early in their relationship that disagreeing with Elliot achieved very little in the long run. Not that having that knowledge had ever stopped her in the past. But despite her sound reasoning of not wanting to give him the wrong idea or make him think she was ok with something that she was absolutely not ok with and regardless of the idea that she really did like the heated way he tended to respond when she fought him, her body sagged willingly against his as he deepened the kiss.

Sure, she loved their heated arguments, but if she were to be completely honest with herself, she'd always loved them because it was the most emotion she ever got him to direct at her and the only way she knew could force him to stare at her with his eyes so intense that she could melt.

So it was perfectly ok with her, sort of, that she'd found another way to get that same frightening intensity directed at her, even if his eyes were closed. And it was perfectly ok with her, at that moment, that she wasn't quite getting enough oxygen to her brain. In fact, that could well have been why she completely forgot all of her reasons for not wanting to do exactly what she was doing.

Which was kissing Elliot back with every bit as much fervor as he was kissing her.

Just like the other times he'd kissed her, just like the time he'd done far more, her cognitive skills were erased in a fraction of a second. They'd started to go when she'd seen his mouth moving toward hers, they were well on their way when his lips pressed against hers, and they were hardly even a memory when his tongue slipped between her lips. One of her arms was pinned between them; the other was trying to gain enough leverage to shift herself close to his face. Her hands were damn near useless, only able to tangle in the loose fabric of his shirt. Her legs didn't seem to be responding to her commands, possibly because the heat generated between them was enough to melt her brain.

She was reduced to sensation, feeling, touching, and she didn't mind. Elliot was more than happy to continue kissing her without any additional input from her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the two brain cells which hadn't yet caught fire told her that because he was a man, he would be more than happy to continue right along as long as she didn't tell him to stop. And with his tongue sliding along hers, she wasn't exactly in a position to tell him to stop.

His hand, the uninjured one that wasn't pinned under her, was apparently much more responsive than Olivia's own had been. It reached around her, his long fingers burning trails across her skin when they hooked around her waist. Olivia had known from the first moment they'd met that Elliot was strong. She was fairly certain that the circumference of his chest had doubled in the intervening years, slowly changing him from someone who was deceptively strong for his size to a man who was unquestionably stronger than most. She'd even learned over the years not to think about his strength, for fear she would become frightened of how easily he could overpower her.

Except she'd faced that day already – that day when he was angry and she was out of her mind and he was able to do whatever he wanted to her. That day he'd given her what she'd wanted, what she'd been too afraid to ask for, what she was beginning to realize had nothing at all to do with the violence, and everything to do with the man.

She was thankful for that tremendous strength of his in that moment when he effortlessly pulled her over, shifting her weight from beside him, lifting her body to straddle him. The movement freed his pinned arm, which he used to pull her chest flush against his, perhaps forgetting in the moment that the sharp plastic edges of his splint would dig into her back. His other hand, the one that had lifted her so quickly, retreated to her hair, pulling her face tighter against his, hard enough that she started to wonder just how many bruises were bound to develop from the encounter.

For her part, with her arms free, she was able to participate. The slightly numb hand that had been supporting her moved around behind his neck, ready to hold him in place in case he tried to get away. The other trailed down his torso, searching blindly for the hem of his shirt, jerking it roughly upward so she could press her hand against his skin. Her legs responded instinctively, slipping open around his hips, pressing herself against his arousal.

And then he seemed to forget all about having just pulled her on top, or maybe he'd planned it all along, but it only took a second for his splinted arm to tighten, enough that she almost whimpered. She barely had time to register the motion before he was above her, one strong arm slowly lowering her to the ground while the other supported them both. She wanted to giggle for the chivalry he displayed, protecting while simultaneously attacking. Giggling would have required her to come up for air, though, and she had no intention of doing that. Not when Elliot had just taken control once again.

The few thoughts she did have, the ones that were meandering slowly through her mind, told her that for all the gentle cuddling and sweet reassurances, Elliot's aggressiveness was still very much present. While she'd been more or less stupefied when she was on top of him, barely able to do anything beside clumsily fumble for more contact between them, Elliot was considerably more coordinated. His mouth was still fastened to hers, kissing her with a force bound to at least make her sore. His weight had shifted to the elbow of his injured arm, while the other hand worked to yank her shirt up, pulling it from under her, around her arms, and between their faces in a brief moment of separation.

She realized that she should be thankful that he was so cooperative because she couldn't think beyond blinding need to have him touch her. There was something about him, his burning skin, his determined hands, his plundering mouth, that was much more effective than all the hot showers had been. No matter how hard she'd scrubbed under the steaming water, she'd never quite felt like she'd gotten rid of Howie.

But Elliot was changing that, melting away any remnants of Howie, removing the phantom touches she felt at night, scorching away all the filth Howie had left on her. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, if Elliot never, ever stopped touching her, she'd forget entirely about Howie's existence.

He shifted, his weight moving back as he tried to sit up, his hands tracing along her waist, aiming for her pants. But it broke the contact of their upper bodies and she wasn't about to let that stop. She clawed at him, finding enough of his shirt to clamp onto, attaching herself to him as he sat back. Olivia found herself on top once again, straddling his lap as he sagged back against the bottom of the couch. She wanted to laugh again, at her desperation, as his acceptance, but it wasn't funny. Not at all. Because she really was desperate, afraid that a bit of space would let him think, terrified that he might think better of touching her.

He seemed to read her mind, both of his arms wrapping around her, securing her upper half tightly against his as gravity held the rest of their bodies together. His mouth stayed against hers, their lips and tongues communicating for once in a way that both of them understood. His hands stayed still, frozen in place against her back.

It frustrated the hell out of her. She'd given in, let him start something she knew better than to let happen, agreed that loveless sex was better than no contact at all. And she'd be damned if he wasn't going to make her do all the work too. Still, she could deal with it. She knew what he wanted and she knew, provided she could regain voluntary control of her body, that she could give it to him.

But as she tried to pull back, attempting to put enough space between them that she could finagle his shirt free, she noticed that his arms weren't giving her any slack. None at all.

And the suddenly cold air on her wet lips clued her in on the fact that his mouth was no longer trying to steal the air from her lungs.

Perhaps because she was still slightly dazed from not getting enough air, she was more pliable than usual. Her body offered no resistance when his arm shifted up, pulling her shoulders against his, forcing her arms to wrap around him or be smashed between them. His mouth was no longer seeking hers, his face instead shifting to the side, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. His hand brushing gently on the back of her head.

Her thoughts continued coming in slow motion, realizing that he was putting a stop to what she'd just given up part of herself to agree to. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She'd decided it was worth it, after all, decided that sex was enough if that was all she could have. And then he took it away, as if when he'd fully woken, he'd realized who she was and what he was doing and that he didn't really want sex badly enough to have it with her. The tears welled up, but she made no sound, thoroughly mortified, wishing that he'd never found her, wanting to be back in Howie's basement where her imaginary Elliot would love her.

She heard his voice, slow and distant at first, and she knew he'd been speaking long before she'd noticed. She heard his words, turning them over and over in her head while she tried to comprehend them.

She stayed there in his arms, in his lap, her tears running down her face and dripping onto the back of the shirt he hadn't let her remove, wondering just what the hell he was so sorry for.

Splintered.3


	51. Day Fifteen, part 3

Day Fifteen, cont'd

Day Fifteen, cont'd

She wanted to run. Running was a skill she'd learned young. Her mother had taught her that running solved everything. When a teacher noticed Olivia's unkempt appearance or a neighbor voiced concerned about Serena's angry shouts, Serena ran. Changed jobs, switched schools, moved to another apartment, another borough, once she'd even moved them all the way out to Jersey to escape prying eyes of people who weren't minding their own business. Olivia had always hoped they wouldn't be so easily hoodwinked. As she grew older, she understood her mother's motives better. The intention had really never been to hurt Olivia, Serena hadn't been trying to hide her treatment of her daughter. No, it was the invasion of privacy that had been the problem. Serena had been trying to hide her own shortcomings, as a parent, as a person. She didn't want people to know that she beat on Olivia when she was drunk because she didn't want people to know she was drunk because she didn't want people to know that she turned to vodka to bury the pain of having been raped. Personal, private information was to be protected at all costs because to reveal that was to reveal herself, to allow the nosy parties to violate her all over again.

As much as Olivia strove to be anything besides her mother, there were things that stuck. Mostly it was the little things, since Olivia had developed an aversion to drinking heavily very young. The way she applied her hand lotion, for instance, the bored way she'd tangle a phone cord around her fingers as she waited for an answer, the way she'd always run her fingers through her hair as she finished brushing it to be sure everything was in place. But one of the big things had stuck too – the running, the ever-present, underlying, usually pre-emptive desire to flee.

Every fiber inside of her was screaming at her to run away. She needed time. She needed space. She needed to wipe her tears away in private until she could fake being unaffected by Elliot's sudden and unexpected rejection.

But for the first time in her life, the urge to run and hide was challenged by another desire, one that, although new, seemed to have just as deep a hold on her. She wanted to hold on, to cling to him, to claw at him until she might burrow under his skin, to dig her heels in until her roots tangled with his. She needed him, damn it, and no amount of running away would solve that. The real issue, however, was that she didn't know how he would react to either choice.

His fierce grip on her hadn't loosened, but his quiet plea for forgiveness had ceased. Her tears were still falling, and she fought with all her strength to keep him from noticing her hitched breaths as she tried to get herself under control. She'd spent quite a bit of time holding onto him, trying to attach herself to him, and she wondered if that was why she felt that unfamiliar sense that staying right where she was the best solution.

Elliot shifted slightly, making Olivia once again lean toward running away. Then she felt the soft fabric of her shirt as Elliot tried to return it to her. The sting of being so pathetic struck her hard. She'd been so scared of letting go of him that she hadn't noticed her missing shirt, although apparently, Elliot had been well aware of it. With the addition of that last straw, the scale tipped firmly toward escape, she climbed to her feet and nearly ran to her bedroom. She didn't even stop to grab her shirt from Elliot's outstretched hand.

She thought hard for several minutes about hiding out in the shower. Elliot hadn't shied away from knocking on her door any other time she'd run from him and she wasn't sure she could face him, at least not until the tears she'd shed over his rejection were dried. But she feared the message that a shower would send. He'd seemed to be apologizing for having been inappropriate with her, and so by taking a shower, she feared she would be telling him that his touch bothered her. And there was another reason she was afraid of the shower, a new idea that bothered her. She was afraid that showering, washing away the memory of Elliot's hands on her, would renew the dirty feeling of Howie's hands on her. She much preferred the memory of Elliot's touch, even if Elliot himself regretted it.

Rather than getting a shower, she simply changed her clothes, tossing aside the wrinkled pants she'd slept in for a pair of jeans and a sweater. The jeans were comfortable, old and worn in, and the sweater was her favorite, soft and warm and somehow reminiscent of Elliot's protective hugs.

By the time she'd dressed, the all too familiar sound of Elliot's hesitant knock had sounded twice. The first time, she'd ignored it, stupidly wanting to spite him while not making herself look more pathetic than she already had. But the second knock made her feel better, knowing he was still there, that he really wasn't planning to leave her. Screwing up her courage, she opened the door and prayed she wouldn't feel compelled to leap back into his arms.

He glanced at his watch, his discomfort convincing her that it was just a ploy to keep from having to look at her. "I –uh-" He winced, as though his next words were going to cause her an undue amount of pain. "I'm supposed to pick up Eli in about an hour. I swapped weeks with Kathy."

She understood why he'd been scared to tell her. She could feel the hesitation, the fear building inside of her. They'd had an understanding; Elliot had agreed not to leave her. And there he was, trying to explain away the fact that he was going to abandon her. She thanked her lucky stars she hadn't tried to hug him since it probably would have made him run without even giving her an explanation. As hurt as she was by the events of the morning, it paled in comparison to the crushing notion that he wasn't going to be there that night when she tried to sleep. It didn't matter if she effaced any sort of dignity she had left, she'd beg. Except when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

Elliot stood there, staring at his hands as he avoided eye contact. "Do you want to come with me? Or Kathy might be able to bring him here if you'd rather not leave."

So prepared for complete dismissal, his words rendered her mute. She knew that his children meant the world to him; she never expected that she meant enough to compete with spending an extra five minutes with his youngest son. She stared at him, unable to come up with anything to say.

He finally met her eyes, curiosity and concern and fear and worry and shame vying for position. "Unless you want me to leave."

For a moment, she thought that he might be looking for an excuse to get away from her. But as she watched him, she saw the shame win the battle just before he ducked his head again. It was killing her all over again, just like it had when he'd turned her away a few minutes earlier. The last thing she wanted to do was make him feel guilty; it wasn't his fault he didn't want what she wanted. She couldn't blame him for not returning her feelings. "I don't want to intrude, so if you want to go, it's ok."

It wasn't, not really, just thinking about being alone for a few minutes, let alone however long it took her to get back to work, terrified her. She was still certain that the next time she opened her eyes she'd be back there, Howie's helpless and hopeless prisoner. Still, she thought it needed to be said, anything to keep him from realizing how much she needed him. In the past, especially when they'd dealt with Gitano, he'd demonstrated an obvious level of upset whenever Olivia tried to cling to him. The harder she tried to hold onto him, the faster he pulled away.

Her eyes were downcast, giving her the perfect line of vision to watch as his hand moved forward, approaching hers, then stopped suddenly and fell back to his side. She wondered about that, about his instinct, newly developed as it was, to reach for her. She wondered what it meant. She wondered how to encourage it.

"I promised you I wasn't going to leave until you were ready and going by last night, I don't think you're there yet." His hand shifted, almost like he was going to reach for her again, winding up stuffed down into his pocket. "But if you want me to go, I'll go."

Swallowing hard, she looked up. The level of embarrassment she'd face if she tried to seduce him again would be unfathomable, and she knew there was certainly a possibility that she'd do it again, but the panic that threatened at the idea of him leaving was much worse. She had to find a way to make him stay, and hopefully, make it bearable enough that he wouldn't resent every minute of it.

She hadn't left the apartment since she'd been home and with her ability to freak out in the most benign situation, going outside scared her. But she was sure that asking Kathy to bring Eli over would require rearranging their standing plans. And Elliot had already told her how easily he could lose custody of his son. She wasn't about to be responsible for that; she'd just have to suck up her anxiety. Besides, if Elliot was with her, she knew she probably wouldn't be so scared.

She forced a smile, feigning confidence Elliot probably knew wasn't really there. "I'll go with you, if you don't mind. A change of scenery might do me some good."

If he was surprised, he hid it well. He only looked at her, studying her expression for a bit longer than he normally did. "Are you sure?"

Rethinking herself, she tried to guess if he meant for her to say something else. "Unless that'll look bad to Kathy. She won't call her lawyer or anything, will she? Maybe you could tell her we're working or –"

He smiled gently, his face relaxing. "I forgot to tell you. Kathy fired her lawyer. She's willing to split custody with me."

Olivia couldn't help but share her partner's joy and her face broke into a smile. "Really?"

He nodded, shrugging at her. "She finally figured out her lawyer was a psycho." He started walking back to the living room, picking up their jackets on the way. "Took her long enough."

Slipping into her coat, she fell in step beside Elliot. "He's a lawyer. Of course he's a psycho." Nerves overtook her as soon as they stepped into the hallway outside her apartment, reminding her of how vulnerable she was, and she shifted closer to Elliot than she'd intended. She wanted to reach for his hand, so she would have something to cling to, a physical assurance of his protection. She fought the urge and tried to keep the conversation going. "How'd she finally figure it out?"

But as always, Elliot seemed to know exactly what it was she wasn't saying, reaching for her hand and holding it tightly in his. "It's a long story, but suffice it to say that it explains that picture in your bedroom."

Without having any idea what his comment meant, she decided to drop it. She was happy enough for the time being, the feel of Elliot's hand securely wrapped around hers soothing away her jitters.

Splintered.4


	52. Day Fifteen, part 4

Day Fifteen, cont'd

Day Fifteen, cont'd

In all honesty, she knew there would be a problem. Things were far from ok anyhow, what with how ridiculously screwed up her recent conversations with Elliot had been. Adding to that was the fact that Olivia had never suffered the sort of self-doubt that she was experiencing. Considering that she was afraid to sleep alone, she was perfectly able to anticipate some sort of issue with venturing into the overwhelming world that was New York City. The only real problem was that while she was prepared for something to go wrong on the trip to Queens, she wasn't prepared for it to happen quite so soon.

She almost felt stupid that she started to panic at the front door of her building. She hadn't paid any attention to what was going on that night Elliot brought her home, so she wasn't expecting the knot of terror forming in her belly, the trepidation causing her heart to pound, the anxiety making her want to squeeze her eyes closed. She tried to hide it, tried to keep her steps even with Elliot's, but as usual, he could read her like a book. He responded silently, tightening his hand around hers.

She'd thought she'd hidden her feelings better, but she couldn't even be embarrassed by the realization that Elliot knew. She was thankful for the support of his tight grasp on her hand. As they walked, she tried to focus on that touch, on the points of contact between their hands. But thoughts were floating into her mind unbidden, an almost film-like quality to the intense memories she couldn't escape. With her first step outside in days, she saw the concrete steps of her building and that night was so fresh in her head that she was there again. She felt the longing for her apartment, the pain and confusion from her physical encounter with Elliot making her desperate for her shower and bed. She remembered hearing the dog's whimper. A chill ran through her when she recalled how she'd contemplated ignoring the cry for help.

Just as another shudder tore through her, she felt Elliot's grip release. Her first instinct was to berate herself for having hidden her fear so well that he no longer thought she needed his reassurance. But then he moved closer, his warm side pressing against hers as his strong arm wrapped around her shoulders. He even anticipated the soreness of her shoulder, his hand stretching further, resting on her upper arm.

She intended to thank him, to tell him what the gesture meant to her, to let him know that she would accept whatever he was willing to give, even if it was so much less than what she wanted. Rather than a word of thanks or a nod of appreciation, nothing came out. She only turned toward him, pressing her face against his chest.

It took very little for him to complete the embrace. The slightest pressure of his hand on her arm and her whole body turned into him Her hands reached out, slipping under his jacket, latching together behind his back, securing him to her. His other arm came around her, the familiar pain of his splint digging into her back promising her that it was real and not some fantasy she'd cooked up in Howie's basement.

"Shh. It's ok, Liv. We don't have to go." His soft whisper fell lightly against her ear. "Kathy can bring Eli here. You don't have to come out until you're ready."

The lure of his words was strong. She longed to go back inside, to lock them into the safety of her apartment, to remain shrouded in his hold forever. But she feared it might actually be forever before she would feel compelled to let them venture out of the protection of their own private world, a world where she could spend every day and every night in Elliot's arms.

Some modicum of dignity prevailed, insisting that the eventual pain of his departure would somehow be less provided she convinced him that she was ready. Although she knew she was dependent on him, it seemed so much less pathetic if he didn't know she was so dependent.

Shaking her head and nodding simultaneously, she relaxed her grip on him. "No, I'm ok. I was just thinking about that night. I'm fine. Let's go."

His arm stayed tight around her as he moved back to stand beside her. "Are you sure?"

Not at all certain, she smiled. She had to hold onto what she could of Elliot and not reach for more. Reaching for more, she knew, would only result in her losing what she had without getting a hold of anything else.

Despite her determination otherwise, she could feel the tension rising in her and she tried to shift closer, except the laws of physics interceded, preventing her from fusing into his side. He leaned down, letting his cheek brush along hers for a moment.

"I'm here." He paused just long enough for her to nod. "You're safe."

She took a deep breath, pulling as much of him, his scent, his strength into herself. And then she stood up straighter, ready to try again. For Elliot to leave his arm around her was simply too much to ask, but Olivia was certain that she could continue to feel the comforting weight on her shoulders like a phantom limb.

She offered him a smile she hoped wouldn't reflect her persistent nerves. "Thanks, El." Although she had already turned her eyes away, she felt herself drawn to look at him again, only to find his eyes narrowed and confused. She shrugged before she realized that would do little in the way of clearing anything up, not if he truly didn't understand that his support meant that much to her. "For everything."

His only response was a silent nod of his head. He started walking once again, steadily guiding her past the alley where she'd been grabbed. She was sure the memories of Howie would forever plague her dreams, knowing she would never be without the sight of Howie stepping out of the shadows. She tried to force it from her mind, looking for something else she could concentrate on until they were past the alley.

The task was much easier than she'd expected when she noticed that the warmth around her shoulders wasn't quite as phantasmal as she'd thought. No, Elliot's arm was still shielding her from her fears, pulling her close into his side, fortifying her courage. She was overwhelmed by the knowledge that he was still there like that, still willing to give her anything she needed. Her arm reached out again, tucking under his jacket purposely so her hand could find his waist.

And it was as she squeezed him back that she felt the memories running through him as well, fear or anger or something he didn't need to explain torturing him the same way. Her breath caught in her throat, choking on the idea that Howie's actions that had rendered her so hopeless and pathetic had also left her partner so helpless and terrified that he was shaking too.

Finally reaching the parking lot felt like a victory. She only vaguely recalled when Elliot had brought her home and she wasn't quite sure how they'd made it past that damned alley. She figured it must have been utter relief on both their parts that they hadn't noticed. Elliot's hands were still shaking as reached for the keys and Olivia wasn't sure how they'd survive another trip to her front door. The thought was turning over in her head as he pulled the door open for her and caused a significant delay her processing of the fact that she was supposed to get in the car. She looked up at Elliot across the roof of the car as he opened his door, the same way she had a million times over the years. It was the first time she'd ever shivered from the realization that he was too far away to touch.

"You ok?" He was concerned, probably thinking along the same lines.

"Yeah, I was just thinking, you know, maybe we shouldn't come back here right away?" She was exhausted from the short walk, more mentally than physically, and she was sure Elliot didn't particularly want to face that terror either.

He nodded. "We could stay at my place for a while. Eli's things are there, so we'd have to stop there anyway." The way he was talking it sounded like he meant for the afternoon.

But Olivia had other ideas as she climbed into the car, certain she wouldn't mind living in a box on the street as long as it meant she didn't have to go home for a while. "Casey can pick up some clothes for me."

Elliot started the car, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Are you sure you want her to know where I live?"

"Why wouldn't I?" It was instinct to want to share the amusement on Elliot's face, but she didn't get the joke.

"Well, you know, I just thought it might be easier to convince you I'm not sleeping with her as long as you know she doesn't know where I live."

For a moment, she was thoroughly confused. Just as she was about to mention that, just as she was going to have to pretend the thought didn't bother the hell out of her, she remembered. She remembered seeing her friend, innocently leaning against her partner's desk. She remembered the white-hot fire that seared through her, condemning them both. She remembered the accusation she'd thrown at Elliot before she ran to the crib to hide.

And she remembered all too well how Elliot had followed her.

She was mortified. She knew Elliot wasn't sleeping with Casey. She'd just been overcome with jealousy at the moment and hadn't been able to see reality. Her allegation against him had only served to tell him that she was jealous. Jealous of something that only existed in her head. Her cheeks burned red as she stared at her lap. "I know you're not sleeping with her."

His eyes were locked on the road in front of him when she dared a glance. His uninjured hand gripping the wheel tightly in barely restrained anger. "And for the record, I'm not sleeping with Jill either."

"Jill?" Even as the name left her lips, she remembered another of her ridiculous charges, the young crime scene tech. "Oh, her." She wanted to bury her face in her hands, but felt that doing so would only draw more attention to her embarrassment.

"Yeah, her." He was shaking his head, a tiny smile starting to form. "Jill used to live up the street from us when she was a kid. She and Maureen played together. It was kind of frightening when she started flirting with me."

And suddenly, Olivia understood. Elliot's eyes had been locked on Jill out of shock, rather than attraction. Although, in her defense, Jill had certainly done her best to make it appear otherwise. "Then what was that about you not knowing how to use a phone?"

He shrugged. "No idea. I winked at her, I'll give you that, but that's only because I learned long ago that not responding to the techs when they're being painfully obvious only guarantees that the labs wind up on the bottom of the pile."

She turned to look out the window, wishing she could un-make all those claims. Because she didn't really think Elliot was that much of an asshole. Because, even if he was, it wasn't any of her business. She'd only made herself look stupid. She could barely force out a whisper in her shame. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have accused you of all that stuff."

"I just hope that's not really what you think of me."

She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was looking at her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She kept staring out the window, wondering when things had gotten so messed up between them, knowing it had happened long before he'd fucked her, wishing that it didn't have to be that way. She shrugged. "I know you're not like that." She bit her lip, trying to make words and not tears come out. "But it really shouldn't matter to me if you were." It really was his business who he slept with and she knew they were all as willing as she had been. "I'm sorry."

He sighed heavily, such a dejected sound that Olivia turned to look at him. His eyes revealed hurt. A lot of hurt. And anger. "Why don't we go back to not talking about this? It's probably just a bad idea."

The rest of the trip was silent, the early morning traffic sounds loud and obnoxious and out of place against the crushing silence in the car. Olivia didn't know what was wrong with her. She had her partner's rapt attention, she had his unwavering support, hell, she had his arms locked around her at night to let her sleep, and she still couldn't help herself, couldn't stop herself from taunting him, from picking fights, from pressing an issue she knew wouldn't end the way she wanted it to. She couldn't figure out why she couldn't accept the consolation prize when she knew full well the other choice was to spend the long, scary nights alone. Olivia was lost in her thoughts, so she actually jumped when Elliot broke the silence.

"Do you want to come in or wait here?"

She looked around, confused for a moment, not having realized how long she'd been staring out the window. She swallowed hard, knowing her voice would give away the thick lump of self-pity in her throat. "What do you want?"

His exasperation was clear under his clipped words. "Whichever you want."

She didn't want to sit in the car. She wanted to go back to those precious moments of peace when Elliot's arm was wrapped around her. But she knew he probably wanted a few precious moments of peace away from his clingy, pathetic partner who couldn't take a hint. She turned to look out the windshield. "I'll wait here."

"Whatever."

He was mad, that much was clear. He probably suspected she was going to freak out and wanted to avoid having her come running into his ex-wife's house screaming bloody murder. But she knew she couldn't stand next to him and not wish for something different and she didn't want to embarrass either one of them anymore.

He slammed the door so hard the car shook. Olivia took a deep breath, telling herself that it was no good to panic when he hadn't gotten two steps away from her yet.

But then her door flew open so unexpectedly that she yelped, jumping back in fear.

Elliot was there, squatting down next to her, anger written all over his face. He reached out with his good hand, grabbing her chin and turning her to face him. His fingers bit into her skin, his eyes burning with fury, his words so incongruous that she couldn't make sense of them.

"I love you, damn it. When are you going to get that?"

His voice echoed in her ears long after he'd disappeared into the house. And still, she couldn't figure it out, couldn't understand it, couldn't believe it. It was simply too good to be true.

Splintered.5


	53. Day Fifteen, part 5

Day Fifteen, cont'd

Day Fifteen, cont'd

She was proud of herself for making it about a whole five minutes before she got too scared to stay there alone. She was out of the car without a conscious thought, sprinting across the lawn, forcing herself to knock politely rather than storming right in. Elliot was there immediately, never having gone far from the door. She half expected him to gloat that he'd been right in knowing she wasn't going to wait alone. But rather than 'I told you so,' there was a half-smile on his face, along with the most curious look in his eyes.

"I kind of expected you to steal the car and never come back." His words were quiet, his eyes turned to watch the stairs. "You know, run off to save the rainforests of something."

She interpreted his statement to mean that he was actually gloating, but not over her fear. He was gloating because he'd said something so wholly unbelievable and intimate and she hadn't fled in terror. The urge to gloat for herself beat out the fear that had sent her running into the house and she felt herself start to smile as she too turned to watch the stairs. "I kind of expected you to pretend you hadn't said anything that might have encouraged me to save the rainforests."

It was true, at least. Elliot wasn't known for showing his weaknesses any more than she was known for hanging around when things got too intense between them. He shifted slightly, allowing his arm to brush hers, initiating contact between them once again. She hid her grin. Maybe they had both learned something new. Or maybe they were simply both growing braver.

Kathy's footsteps on the stairs prevented either of them from saying anything more. As soon as she saw Olivia, her lips widened into a smile. "Olivia, it's good to see you." She glanced at Elliot, a resigned look on her face. "I should have known you were back." The sad look disappeared as she offered another smile in Olivia's direction. "Poor schmuck couldn't string two words together while you were gone."

Suddenly, she felt out of place, realizing that she'd run to Elliot for comfort at a rather inopportune time. Apparently Elliot hadn't even indicated that she was there to Kathy. But she smiled back politely. "I thought Elliot might need some help with your little handful there." She was happy to shift the attention to someone else, and even happier when Kathy offered Eli to her.

Kathy handed over the diaper bag to Elliot, nodding at his hand. "I see you got the guy good." Olivia snickered, pretending to be enthralled with Eli, but she continued to listen in, curious to see what Elliot would say to Kathy about her. And honestly, she was interested to hear the story his El's fucked up hand, considering that she'd never seen him inflict so much damage on himself in all the years she'd known him.

"This didn't happen beating the prick up, I'll have you know." Elliot sounded embarrassed, but Olivia didn't dare look up, not with the way Eli was smiling at her. Kathy uttered a disbelieving snort that made Olivia want to laugh. Elliot cleared his throat and continued. "Actually, this happened because Cragen wouldn't let me at the guy who had her."

But she couldn't ignore that, her eyes darting up as she started laughing. "Damn, El, you beat up the cap?"

Kathy sighed as she leaned over and kissed Eli's head. "I wouldn't put it past him, Olivia." She shrugged when Olivia's surprised glance fell on her. "It had to take something to get him to ask me for help."

Elliot jumped in, changing the topic before things could get too personal for his liking. "Thanks for swapping weeks. I'm off, so I'll have more time with him."

Kathy nodded at his splint. "Will you be all right with him one-handed?"

Olivia felt no desire to point out that Elliot had the benefit of two additional hands, since she had no immediate plans to go anywhere. There was no reason at all to let Kathy know about them, especially not when nothing was settled. The only definitive this they could tell Kathy would be what had happened between them in the crib, revealing a lack of self-control on both their parts that would make Kathy afraid to leave her baby in their care. But Olivia remembered Elliot's declaration outside and started to smile, realizing there was a chance someone decent and confessable might really work out in the end.

Elliot looked at Olivia's grin for a moment before he turned back to Kathy with a shrug. "Yeah, I'm good. Besides, Maureen wants to redecorate my place, so she might be able to help out."

Kathy nodded absently, leaning in to say good-bye to her youngest. "Well, I have to get to work, so as much as I hate leaving him for a week, I should probably get going." She ushered them out the door and hurried to her car, stopping long enough to unload the car seat. "You'll call the day care and tell them he's not coming in, then, right?"

Elliot assured her that he'd take care of his son, watching her drive away before he turned to Olivia. He watched her for a moment, while she made silly faces at the baby, then he shook his head and walked back to his car.

She hadn't missed his stare, even distracted as she was. "What?"

He shrugged. "I was going to ask if you minded having him around, but-" He nodded at the way Eli had settled quite happily in her arms. "But then, you two seem to get along pretty well."

Olivia flashed him a wickedly flirtatious grin, thoroughly amused when his mouth fell open in shock. "He looks just like you, except, you know, he hasn't figured out how to push my buttons yet."

Sighing as though he really didn't know what to make of her, Elliot motioned toward the back door of the car with his splint and lifted the car seat with the other. "Can you give me a hand putting this in?"

Securing the seat wasn't that complicated, but Olivia checked it four times. It was responsible for precious cargo, after all, and Olivia had no experience to call on. As she moved in for a fifth inspection, she heard Elliot's chuckle. She turned with a scowl. "What?"

Elliot was moving toward her, offering her Eli. "You got it, quit double checking."

"He's your son." She accepted Eli into her arms, still nervous as to the stability of the seat. She'd been driving when that drunk driver hit her and Kathy, which she still felt responsible for, something Elliot had never brought up, never placed blame on her for, never even mentioned. Probably because the trust he placed in her was so complete and unquestioning, Olivia felt she owed it to him to question herself. If he was so sure of her, then she needed to make damn sure of her too.

"I know. I trust you." His words were unnecessary, and only prompted her to be even more anal retentive when strapping Eli into the seat. Ignoring his assurances, she repeatedly checked herself, wondering if she wouldn't feel better walking back to Manhattan with Eli safe and protected in her arms. But Elliot's hand reached out, stilling her nervous movements. "Liv, he's good."

If he hadn't trusted her, it would have bugged her. She'd resent him for it, absolutely convinced he was wrong. But the unyielding faith just made her unsure of herself. She didn't know which was worse. She gave up, having done all she could to ensure the child's safety.

Neither said anything more as they started back to the city. She felt compelled to check over her shoulder several times, needing visual reassurance that Eli remained secure and happy in his seat.

Eventually, her insistent checking forced Elliot to break the silence. "Liv, you're starting to make me nuts."

She smirked at him. "Like I said, he's your kid."

Elliot only smiled, apparently unmoved by her lack of faith in herself. As the ride continued, shrouded once again in silence that was only interrupted occasionally by Eli's babble, Olivia found herself contemplating the words Elliot had thrown at her in a moment of exasperation. He'd said he loved her, words that she absolutely knew he did not take lightly. She knew he wouldn't have said such a thing if he didn't mean it. And she suspected, based on the way he'd said it in the heat of anger and immediately fled, that he hadn't meant to say it. She didn't doubt his veracity; she doubted instead that he was quite ready to face it. After all, he'd apparently only narrowly avoided a horribly nasty divorce. He probably wasn't looking for a relationship right away, at least, not the sort of one Olivia was looking for with him. The fact was that any sort of relationship between the two of them was bound to be complicated and intense. Hell, their partnership had nearly killed both of them several times.

Although she knew without question that she loved Elliot, she didn't know that she was any more ready to deal with it than Elliot was. She'd loved him for a long time, in a way that she wouldn't dare admit to anyone, and she didn't want to doom any possible future by moving too fast, despite the way they'd kind of hit the ground running in the physical department.

She felt she needed to say something in recognition of his confession, something to keep him from thinking he'd upset her. She didn't want to mess things up by going too fast and she wasn't about to screw things up by convincing him that she didn't want to move at all. So as Elliot muttered curses at the taxi in front of them, Olivia turned to face him.

"I did want you to be there."

She watched as his mouth fell open and his eyes moved to hers. His interest in the traffic faded away entirely that quickly.

She shrugged one shoulder before he could say anything in response. "Not that I wanted you to be hurt, but –" She took a deep breath, daring herself to let her mind touch on that miserable period without the oversight of Huang. "Sometimes he'd come in and make me put my arms around him and he'd hold me and I couldn't get away from him."

"Liv, don't." His voice was intended to be sharp, to cut her off, but his breath hitched as moisture welled up in his eyes. "Not now." The fingers of his one good hand were wrapped around the wheel like a vice.

She could see the dread, the fear, the horror. He expected she was trying to tell him that she'd been raped and he couldn't deal with it while he was driving, certainly not with his baby in the back seat. She shook her head, reaching to unhook her seat belt so she could slide over next to him. "He didn't do anything else, really. He just wanted to hold me." She shivered, glad that she'd shimmied over to her partner for the comfort she felt simply by touching him. "I pretended he was you." She took another breath, hoping that what seemed like an amazingly personal revelation for her struck him the same way. "I wanted to be there with you like that."

She watched the idea, the understanding, wash over him, his features morphing from tight and angry to relaxed and surprised to open and thankful. There were still tears threatening to fall from his eyes, and he stubbornly kept his face dry by concentrating on the road. But she knew he'd figured out what she was trying to say in such a uniquely backwards manner as only she could manage, because he left the handling of the wheel to his crippled hand, stretching his right arm around her and pulling her into his side.

Splintered.4


	54. Day Nineteen

Day Nineteen

"This is, hands down, the ugliest thing I've ever seen in my life." Nonetheless, Olivia flopped down on the couch. The tan paisley was peppered with flecks of dark drown and orange with the occasional hint of a mottled, dingy gold. It reminded her of autumn, and not in a good way. More like in a rotting pile of leaves kind of way.

"Are you sure? We've seen some doozies." Despite his argument, Elliot dropped onto the sofa beside her. "It's pretty comfy, though, right?"

"Yeah, so get this one and just don't look at it." It wasn't her couch so she didn't really care. Or rather, she couldn't explain why she would care about which couch he had because they still hadn't gotten to that particular discussion yet.

A disappointed sigh came from above them. "You really do hate shopping, don't you?"

Olivia lifted her head and glared up at the young blonde woman. "Now why on Earth would you say something like that?"

Maureen shook her head, shifting Eli's carrier to her other hand and frowning at the pair collapsed on the sofa. "Because that really is the ugliest thing ever."

Elliot turned to shrug at Olivia. "So?"

Maureen laughed, kicking at her father's feet in an attempt to spur him into motion. "It's also the first one we've seen and you're all set to buy it."

Olivia frowned, suspecting suddenly that Maureen was one of those practical types who would drive all over town to compare prices. She turned to Elliot and couldn't help the grin from spreading across her face. "Why did we bring her again?"

"Because someone has to carry the baby." Elliot lifted his hand, which had been examined, prodded, re-x-rayed, and returned to its immobile position on the splint following another visit to the doctor. He'd tried to tell Olivia that the mottled brown color of his skin was a vast improvement from the swollen lump it had been the first time he'd been there. She hadn't believed him, not until the orthopedist assured her that what had been a terrible break was healing, albeit slowly.

Olivia's shoulder had been re-examined as well, landing her with her arm in a sling, several layers of tape and elastic bandage preventing her from moving it far because, according to the doctor, she couldn't be trusted not to move it excessively. Between the two of them they'd managed to care for Eli, however, an actual pair of coordinated hands was infinitely more skilled with the baby. Plus, Maureen had yet to inquire as to why Olivia was at Elliot's apartment in the morning when she got there and still there at night when she left.

Olivia turned back to Maureen, already desperate to be done with the shopping less than a half hour after leaving home. "Can I bribe you with chocolate?"

The young woman laughed and shook her head, something indescribable about the movement reminding Olivia of Elliot. "I'm on a diet, so no, chocolate isn't going to work."

"Christian Louboutin shoes? We buy this couch and you'll get a pair on me. What do you say?"

Maureen shook her head, grabbing her father's good hand and giving it a good tug. "You weren't kidding about the groceries, were you?"

He reluctantly climbed to his feet. "You really should try it, hon. It's really comfortable." Maureen wasn't listening and had already moved a good distance down the aisle. He looked back at Olivia. "I don't think she'd buy it if it was the last one on Earth just to spite me." He reached out, offering her his hand.

"And here I thought she'd outgrown that phase." Satisfied that Maureen was paying them no attention, Olivia extended her hand, refusing to let herself think about how natural it was to feel his fingers lace with hers. "She's not going to let us just buy something and leave, is she?"

"No, but she doesn't really know you that well, so you jump on the first thing she seems to approve of and insist that I buy it and I'll go along with you." He grinned, the smile translating through his arm to squeeze her hand. "That's the plan."

Half heartedly, Olivia extracted her hand from his, checking to make sure Maureen wasn't looking. "That plan might have worked with Kathy, but I'm not sure Maureen is going to believe that I have any say in your furniture choice."

He made another grab for her hand, frowning when Olivia shoved it into her pocket. "Except you're here, so you clearly have a say in my furniture choice." Not a bit dissuaded by her obvious desire to not be in physical contact, he stepped closer and put his hand on the small of her back. "Besides, you have taste and I think she knows I trust you."

As much as Olivia loved the warm, reassuring pressure of his hand against her back, she didn't want Maureen to witness anything out of the ordinary for friends. Because nothing had been decided between them and the last thing she wanted was to cause tension with Kathy and the kids, fearing that the tension might cause Elliot to have second thoughts before he managed to explain his first thoughts.

Side-stepping a bit out of reach, she tried to ignore the brief flash of pain and confusion on her partner's face. "More than you trust her?"

Copying her earlier motion and shoving his hand deep into his pocket. He shrugged, throwing glances at Olivia to determine what he'd done wrong. "Of course, if I'd trusted her judgment on a car, I'd be driving around in a bright yellow Mustang convertible."

She couldn't suppress the laughter at the image of Elliot tooling around in his mid-life crisis. "Well, maybe you should have listened. It might have gotten you some action, El."

With a wince, he hurried his pace to catch up with his daughter, but Olivia still heard him mutter. "Apparently, there's not much chance of that without it."

Olivia hung back, knowing he'd misread her rebuff of his touch. While he and Maureen poured over another couch, Olivia mentally kicked herself. Although, much like Elliot, she still tended to see Maureen as an impetuous teenager, Olivia knew the girl had grown up and probably had enough sense to keep a secret. And while she figured Maureen would be able to handle the situation, she knew Elliot, as indestructible as he seemed, was incredibly vulnerable when it came to her and wouldn't understand her rejection.

Rejoining them, Olivia pointed at the overhead sign displaying directions for the store. "Maybe we should prioritize a little. It could take years to decide on a couch, but you really need to get Eli a crib before Kathy finds out he's sleeping in his play pen."

With a wide smile, Maureen pulled a small notebook from her purse. "I already looked online to get a good idea of the current prices for baby furniture."

Olivia grinned, snagging the notebook away. "And since only one of us has children, only one opinion really counts." She expected her words to at least merit a grin, but Elliot didn't even acknowledge her.

Maureen glanced between them. "Ok, mood swing, anyone?" Olivia was staring at her shoes and Elliot was ignoring everyone, so Maureen looked down at her baby brother. "Damn, Eli, who stole their lollipops?"

Elliot and Olivia followed mutely behind as Maureen led the way to the children's department. As they passed a set of unsuspecting bunk beds, Olivia grabbed Elliot's right arm and yanked him into the relative privacy afforded by the thick wooden bed frame and a tall dresser. She shoved him against the wall, pressing into him until only her immobilized arm separated them. His eyes were wide, but he was apparently willing to go along with her as his arms circled around her.

"Look, I didn't think you were ready to let Maureen see anything, especially since we haven't really discussed what it is she'd be seeing. I wasn't trying to upset you." While she spoke, her free arm wound around his waist. "And I had no real desire to dissuade you."

The hurt and confusion and anger disappeared in a way he usually made more of an attempt to hide from her. "I thought I'd done something wrong." He bent forward, capturing her lips in a kiss. He pulled back a bit, far too soon for Olivia's liking. "You're not mad, are you?"

She shifted her weight against him, teasing him like she wouldn't have dared had they been somewhere besides Ikea. "I'm extremely angry that, for the time being at least, we're both crippled." She moved her arm, releasing his waist in favor of grabbing the back of his head so she could pull his lips back to hers. She'd been hyperaware of what Maureen might see until that point. But as soon as she felt Elliot's mouth open under hers, as soon as she felt Elliot's tongue probing her lips, Olivia stopped giving a damn.

A startled yelp almost made a dent in the pure desire fogging Olivia's brain.

There was a pause while the yelper realized she was being ignored and then there was an impatient voice. "Should I just keep going and wait for you to catch up or am I supposed to stand here and narrate while Eli learns around the birds and the bees?"

Fortunately, by the time Maureen finished speaking, Elliot's tongue was back in his own mouth. Unfortunately, the hormone-driven haze hadn't yet cleared Olivia's brain. At that moment, she didn't much care what Elliot's eldest daughter saw; she just wanted to go back to the kissing. Physical impairments be damned, nothing all that important was broken on either one of them. Olivia figured they could work it out.

Elliot, perhaps driven by instinct to protect his offspring, got a hold of himself faster, but he kept his arm around Olivia when he faced Maureen. "I know this looks bad, but-"

Maureen shook her head. "I'm an adult, dad. You don't have to explain it."

Sense was slowly dawning on Olivia, hampered somewhat by the intense heat that seemed to emanate from the points of contact between them. She knew exactly what Elliot was thinking and she didn't want to look like the other woman. "You're right. We don't have to explain anything to you. But it's important that you understand-"

Maureen grinned, letting the pair relax. "It's new. I got it."

Olivia looked at Elliot and shrugged. Elliot turned to Maureen. "Yeah, it is, but out of curiosity, how do you know that?"

"Cause you're hooking up in public. That's definitely a sign of a new relationship." Maureen looked between the two of them, appearing to size up their reactions. "Besides, even if I thought you were the type of pig who cheated, dad, which I don't for the record," She winked at Olivia. "Something tells me you wouldn't put up with that sort of shit."

Deciding it was the best possible result under the circumstances, Olivia mirrored Maureen's smile. "You're right about that." She leaned into Elliot, playfully nudging him. "Not even you're worth that."

Ignoring Olivia once again, Elliot didn't back down. "This wasn't how I wanted you to find out." He wasn't comfortable with the situation, possibly because he fully expected the information to go right back to Kathy due to the close relationship Maureen shared with her mother. And having only just recently avoided a messy divorce with accusations of adultery with Olivia thrown in for good measure, it wasn't necessarily a good thing to fan the embers for fear of starting another fire.

Maureen moved to Elliot's other side and slung her arm around his waist. "Don't worry, it's not how I found out."

Olivia was perplexed, having thought they'd kept any change in their status well hidden. "What gave it away?" She needed to know what had done them in, if for no other reason than so they might do a better job of keeping it under wraps from the boss.

"As far as I knew, Eli was sleeping in daddy's bed. So when you said he was sleeping in his play pen, I figured it had to mean someone else was sleeping in daddy's bed."

Elliot shook his head, realized that Maureen really had just found out, yet was taking it in stride. He turned to Olivia. "So if you'd kept your mouth shut and let Maureen compare the damn couches-"

Maureen stepped forward, dragging her father forward. "I still would have figured it out. You and mom are getting divorced. Olivia's helping you shop for furniture. Besides, it was only a matter of time."

Elliot squeezed his eyes closed, shaking off both of the women attached to him. "This just gets more and more awkward, doesn't it?" Using his uninjured hand, he grabbed Eli's carrier and surged ahead into the displays of furniture.

Maureen offered Olivia a friendly smile, letting the older woman know she really wasn't upset by the development. "Dad's awful cute when he's embarrassed, isn't he?"

Olivia had a wicked grin on her face as she watched Elliot storm away. "He's always awful cute, Maureen." A blush burned across her cheeks as she was reduced to giggling like a teenager. "But he's downright adorable when he's all flustered."

Rolling her eyes and stifling a groan, Maureen started after Elliot. "Oh, lord, help us."

She knew she ought to be mortified at her behavior, but Olivia couldn't muster up the energy to care. She was too busy being in a good mood. Even if she was shopping.

Splintered.5


	55. Day TwentyOne, part 1

Day Twenty-One

The sounds of three greasy, physically imposing men grunting unintelligibly in a language Olivia couldn't identify were hardly the optimal backdrop for therapy. The babbling blue-eyed boy on her lap wasn't helping much either. And, truth be told, George Huang looked particularly uncomfortable to be sitting on Elliot's bed. But it wasn't like they had a lot of choices.

The furniture, for which Elliot had begrudgingly agreed to pay the delivery and assembly charge when Olivia pointed out their physical limitations, was being delivered and assembled by the greasy, grunting, imposing men. Elliot had been especially unhappy about the additional fee for weekend service, his argument being that anyone who could afford to buy furniture and pay extra to have it delivered and assembled was likely to be working during the week, but again, they hadn't had many choices.

Because Cragen wanted Elliot back in the office bright and early Monday morning. Penalized for some of his behavior, which Elliot wouldn't explain to Olivia, by weeks of desk duty until his hand healed. The real penalty, however, Olivia knew Cragen hadn't intended. The man wasn't really out to get her, and probably had no concept of how frightening the prospect of spending a day without being around Elliot was to her. And she knew, had the man been made aware, he would have given her a reprieve.

Conversely, Huang knew exactly how scared Olivia was, but he had no mercy. He seemed to think it was a good idea for Olivia to try to be alone for some portion of the day, and was not dissuaded by her multiple attempts to change the subject.

So Olivia was quite pleased that Huang was perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed Olivia had been sleeping in for a week. And she was happy to have the wiggly, giggly distraction in her lap.

But in true Huang fashion, he put aside his own feelings regarding their location and was unmoved by the adorable child vying for his attention. "Have you been back to your apartment at all?"

Olivia blew a raspberry on Eli's hand, eliciting a series of delighted shrieks. Then she looked at Huang, idly wondering how he would react to her doing to the same to him. She already knew how Elliot would react, with the same heated stare that, as of late, he used to respond to anything she said or did. The frustration of so close, yet so far away was taking a toll on him, as it was with her. In fact, just the thought of his heated stare caused an urgent, awkward feeling to gather between her legs.

Shifting around to distract herself, she tried to focus on Huang. "I was at my apartment for a couple of days. But then Elliot had custody of Eli, so we came here."

Eli seemed to crave her attention and was much more appreciate than Huang. The baby's striking blue eyes were a testament to his paternity despite the mop of blond curls that clearly hadn't come from Elliot's side of the family. Just like his father's, those brilliant eyes appeared to brighten dramatically when Olivia met them. His whole face lit up, shining eyes spreading down his face until his mouth widened into a smile. Such unbridled joy merely from seeing her face was something she rarely had the opportunity to bask in. But while Olivia smiled at Eli's simple happiness, Huang didn't even notice.

"Does it bother you to be so dependent?" Although his voice was soft and gentle as always, his words were sharp and pointed.

Her face fell and her eyes swung back to the doctor, unaware that Eli's face mirrored her own at the loss of an audience. "I am not dependent." Too annoyed at the suggestion to continue engaging Eli, she set him in the middle of the bed. "Not on anyone or thing and I haven't been since I was his age."

Huang nodded, somehow clearly conveying the idea that he didn't believe her without bothering to say a word.

"I'm not dependent." Her tone was harsh, but she felt his comment was a low blow. There was little she found so abhorrent, at least not when it came to qualities she might possess.

Huang nodded again, making Olivia wonder if he actually knew that nodding implied agreement, since he obviously wasn't doing it right. But Huang was skilled at keeping Olivia's mind from wandering too far from intensely uncomfortable things. "How much time have you spent alone since you came home?"

Olivia toyed with the multi-colored set of plastic keys Eli had been chewing on. It took all of her concentration to make the action seem effortless and without premeditation. Still, it was easier than dealing with the truth. She shrugged, trying to make it seem relatively meaningless as well. Misleading mental health professionals was hard work. "I spend a lot of time alone." She tried to convince herself that it was true, but she knew that the amount of time she and Elliot spent in the bathroom or shower each day hardly added up to a lot, a fact that Huang wasn't likely to miss.

"I understand that you feel safe with Elliot, but it's important that you feel capable of taking care of yourself." Huang did seem to understand most things, which only made Olivia want to know why he didn't understand that she never wanted to leave Elliot's side, for any of a multitude of reasons.

For a moment, she faltered in her resolve to lie her way through every difficult minute of therapy. "Right, like I was so capable the night Howie grabbed me. I have to say it probably would have gone very differently had I been with Elliot then, don't you think?"

"Do you feel secure enough to spend a night alone in your own apartment?" Huang, in keeping with the international code of headshrinkers, ignored her sarcastic comment.

If he could ignore her pathetic defense mechanisms, Olivia, in keeping with the international code of headshrinkees, was perfectly justified in a bold-faced lie. "Absolutely." She glanced at Eli, who was trying to steal back the toy to which Olivia was clinging like it was her lifeline. "Like I said, I'm not dependent on Elliot. I like spending time with him. That's it. No secret hidden meanings."

"I'd like to see you spending at least a little time alone, to see how you handle the stress." Huang was well-versed in that international code, apparently.

Olivia plastered a fake smile across her face. "I handle stress by taking long bubble baths and getting massages when I can." Just the thought of spending a night without the comfort of Elliot's embrace seemed painful and cruel. Still, she knew exactly where the conversation was heading, because it was just the sort of conversation which would undoubtedly derail her happy little life plan of following Elliot around like a puppy for the rest of time.

Rather than the nodding she'd grown accustomed to, Huang stood up, capped his pen and closed his notebook. "Since you clearly aren't interested in continuing therapy, I'm not going to waste any more of my time. I'll recommend to Don that you be placed on permanent disability."

Olivia sprang from the bed to block his path. "What?"

Huang's eyes held a concern that wasn't reflected in his words. "You are not ready to go back to work, Olivia. And with your utter resistance to even try to discuss what happened and how you're handling it, I don't foresee you ever returning to a stressful work environment."

As skilled as Olivia prided herself for being in the area of hiding her feelings, she was ill-prepared to face the idea of never returning to her job. Her crestfallen expression certainly did a lot to convey the truth. She grabbed Huang's arm in an uncharacteristically physical display of need. "Please! You can't do that!"

Perhaps his face softened a bit, but it was hard to tell. "Unless you're going to take this seriously, Olivia, I'm afraid I don't have any other options. I won't be responsible for you getting hurt out there."

She was shaking. Actually shaking in fear of losing her career in such a, at least in her opinion, cowardly way. Clutching at Huang's sleeve, she dropped back to the bed, too weak to remain standing. "Please don't do this. I'll do anything you want. Please!"

Huang's face finally revealed something besides stoic observational skills. He looked pained, wincing at the unexpected reaction from the woman in his care. "I expected you'd be angry." He settled back beside her, carefully prying her fingers loose from his shirt. "I never thought you'd beg."

With her hands free, she wiped at her eyes as if to ward off the tears that hadn't fallen. "Anything. I swear. I'll do anything at all." She didn't bother to mention that she never thought she'd beg either, but she couldn't lose her job. Being a detective, being a sex crimes detective, defined her. It was her life. She couldn't give it up.

"I'm only going to ask for one simple thing." He waited until she made eye contact and nodded. "Stop lying to me. I need the truth and I need you to say it."

She nodded again, emphatically. "Fine. I haven't spent a night alone. But I will. I'll go home tonight. You can call to make sure."

Huang squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head, indicating that he really did know that nodding wasn't always appropriate. Unfortunately, Olivia couldn't have cared less at the moment. "I don't want to press you to do something terrifying. I want you to consider the possibility of being alone, maybe trying to stay alone for short periods of time before you work up to spending a whole night at home."

She shook her head. "No, I'll be ok. Really." Reaching behind her, she found Eli who'd been busy with his teething toy since she'd dropped it and pulled him into her lap once again. She needed something to hold onto while it felt like her whole world was crumbling. "Elliot has to go to work tomorrow anyway, so I'll just go home now." She'd studiously avoided the topic of Elliot working since he'd first mentioned it. She wanted to discuss it about as much as she wanted to sleep alone at night. "I mean, after you leave."

Huang looked defeated, hanging his head and staring at his closed book. "Please don't rush on my account. I only want to know that you're trying to deal with this seriously."

"And I am, I swear. I'll tell you about it tomorrow." She nodded at nothing in particular as she clung to Eli, needing to feel the warmth of another living, breathing soul close to her. Huang had threatened her with the worst possible outcome and she had every intention of proving him wrong.

So in a little under fifteen minutes, she was facing Elliot with tears streaking down her face as she explained that she had to leave. And she couldn't swear which one of them was crying harder.

Splintered.4


	56. Day TwentyOne, part 2

Day Twenty-One, cont'd

When Olivia was five years old, she'd lived in a tiny, cramped apartment with her mother that had been carved out of the third floor of a house that had been built sometime long, long ago. The place was boiling hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. There was a persistent draft in the hallway that always resulted in causing the curtains to move, seemingly on their own to the eyes of the petrified child that spent too many hours by herself in the darkness caused by faulty wiring.

Those late nights alone would usually end with Serena tripping home and collapsing face down on her bed. Olivia spent nights on the couch in the living room, the only room besides the bedroom and bathroom. Between the weird, creepy noises ancient houses made, the wind that never went away, and the awful way Serena snored when she was drunk, little Olivia spent those nights as terrified after her mother staggered home as she had been before. And usually, she'd cower in the doorway of the living room, peering down the dark, scary hallway, hearing the combination of sounds that made her too terrified to chance venturing out there to get to the bathroom.

Eventually, of course, the desperate urge to relieve herself would overwhelm her fear, causing her to tiptoe slowly, cautiously halfway down the hall, fearful of leaving the welcome, protective light of the living room too far behind. When she reached the halfway point, there would always be a creak or a gust of wind or a marked change in her mother's labored breathing that freaked her right out of her wits. Of course, at that point she was too scared to turn back and would duck her face down, hunch her shoulders and sprint for the bathroom.

And it was with that same panic that a grown up Olivia faced the prospect of crossing that god-awful alleyway that Howie's sick fucking mind had told him was the perfect place to grab her. Although she recognized that she had to look positively insane to any outside observers, she was more frightened of the thought that Howie was somehow going to be there again than she was of a trip to Bellevue. So she moved terribly slowly, putting each foot millimeters in front of the other, barely moving at all with each step. But eventually, she found herself halfway between the buildings, a ridiculously short distance of maybe four feet on either side of her, but it may as well have been miles. Still too far, at least in her mind, from safety behind her, she was determined to continue. Too scared to take so long to reach the other side, she did the same as she'd always done in that freaky hallway, pulling her shoulders up, squeezing her eyes closed, tucking her chin down, and running like the wind for the blessed safety of someplace else.

She was mighty damn proud of herself when she put one hand on the handrail of her building's steps.

So fucking proud that she actually pulled out her phone to call Elliot.

But the pride faded before she pressed the button, knowing how stupid her accomplishment would seem to a man she was sure had never, not even in childhood, been afraid of things that went bump in dark alleys. Besides, it wasn't just that she was afraid of the alley, really. She was on a fucking mission to prove someone wrong, didn't even matter who, because Olivia meant business when she was out to prove that no one but her knew shit. She couldn't prove her independence from Elliot if she called him less than fifteen minutes after leaving his side.

Disappointed that she couldn't share her victory, disappointed more that she couldn't hear his voice, she let herself into her building, chose the elevator because it was better-lit than the stairs, and finally found her way to her own apartment. Another accomplishment she felt worthy of praise that she wanted to share with the man who would have been happy to lavish said praise on her, but she reminded herself of how fucking happy she would be when the sun rose, when she called Huang and told him to go fuck himself, when she could call Elliot and tell him she was never, ever leaving his side again. They were partners, after all. She could probably get away with it for a while. At least until she needed to use the bathroom.

It had been eleven days since they'd found her in Howie's basement, eleven days spent glued to Elliot's side. It had been eighteen days since Howie had turned her into a clingy, dependent basketcase. As much as she wanted to prove Huang wrong so that she could go right back to Elliot, she understood Huang's hesitance over her inability to be alone, because even at five, Olivia had been strong enough to deal with her fears alone. She'd never once called her mother to save her. Although in retrospect, she'd swear it was because her mother probably wouldn't have helped her anyway, Olivia knew deep down that she simply had never been dependent. She'd wanted to do it alone. She'd wanted to deal with her problems on her own. She'd wanted to count on herself.

She needed to know that surviving on her own was still an option, even if she chose a different one.

She moved through her apartment slowly, looking at everything with a critical eye, idly wondering if she should repaint or perhaps replace some of her furniture. Ikea, and furniture shopping in general, hadn't been nearly as hideous as she'd remembered from the first, and last, time she'd done it. With a smile, she remembered sucking face with Elliot every time Maureen had turned her back, and suspected he'd be game for another round as well.

But thinking of that aspect of being with him brought her to something she really had tried not to dwell on or even think of at all. Sitting down heavily on her bed, she dared to let her mind consider just what the hell they were doing. She'd had a shitty fucking week being held by Howie, terrified and awaiting some unspeakable act that was certain to come her way. By vague allusions, she'd picked up that Elliot's week looking for her had been pretty fucking awful too. They'd shared the relief that was being reunited, coupled it with the unprecedented intimacy that had barely happened before their separation, and made their relationship into something she wasn't sure it was.

Not for the first time, she looked at the mess that he'd made of her bedroom and wondered what the hell had happened while she was gone. She stood up, tracing a foul smell to her washer, and opened the lid, only to be nearly overpowered by the source. It took a flashlight and barbeque tongs, which she didn't care about throwing away since she didn't own a barbeque, to identify a set of half-disintegrated, moldy sheets. Appalled, she dropped them and the tongs back inside and let the lid slam closed. The man owed her new sheets, which she didn't really think he'd dispute. The new washer, which she was going to demand since she was never touching that machine again, would be a harder sell.

She returned to her bedroom, turning over the idea that he'd slept in her bed while she was gone. She didn't mind, didn't consider it a violation of any kind. She trusted him. So he'd slept in her bed and attempted to wash her sheets, probably only letting them be destroyed because he'd been distracted by finding her. And certainly, had the same course of events unfolded minus a particular intimate encounter, she wouldn't have objected to her partner of so long finding solace in her apartment. In his place, she might have done the same.

The real issue, the real problem, was that the intimate encounter had occurred. Usually when she slept with a man it was calculated in some way. Even on those extremely rare occasions when she went out with the express intent of finding herself a bedmate if only for the night, there was a still a decided intent to do so. Or when she was seeing someone special, she always decided long in advance when and where and how sex would take place. It simply wasn't something that happened randomly and without forethought, not for her.

But she had not gone to work that day expecting to be fucked. And if she had, she would not have imagined that Elliot would be the man to do it. She'd flirted with him for years, considered the possibility sometimes that something physical might take place. But it had never gotten to the definite, planning stages. It had happened outside of a romantic relationship, outside of a desire for physical pleasure. It had just happened. Randomly.

She didn't know if she would have been so eager to snuggle with Elliot following the encounter had Howie not made Elliot seem so god damned perfect in comparison. Rough, hard, and angry wasn't her thing. She didn't really think it was Elliot's either. It seemed like something had taken over her, him as well, something feral and wild and scary, something undeniable, something that might have been better left buried in their history while their friendship and partnership continued unchanged.

The thought hurt her, more than she would have expected, causing the corners of her mouth to turn downward, prefacing tears she feared would follow.

The hurt, however, struck her on a profound level. Because, although she'd never really, legitimately, consciously considered pursuing a romantic relationship with her partner, she realized she desperately wanted one. He meant something to her, something she'd never thought about, something she'd never named, something no other man had ever come close to.

She loved him. She absolutely loved him. And the thought of losing the connection that had happened that day in the crib cut her as deeply as losing him altogether would have. It wasn't a silly, attracted to him, easily replaceable kind of love. It wasn't a he's a great guy who's a good friend kind of love. It was real fucking terrifying love.

Maybe it hadn't been planned. Maybe it hadn't been expected. But finally being intimate with him, finding release in his arms as he did in her body, was hardly random. It was the opposite, she discovered, like abstinence before marriage, not touching until there was complete certainty, true commitment, enduring love.

She shivered at the thought, pulling the phone from her pocket. She didn't give a fuck what Huang thought. She needed to talk to Elliot, to hear his voice, to tell him what she'd figured out.

He answered before the first ring was complete, his readiness to come to her rescue making her smile. "Are you ok?"

Just the sound of his voice made her laugh, confused at first at her reaction until she finally identified it as joy. She was laughing with joy. She'd never thought such a thing happened outside of Disney movies.

Unfortunately, Elliot hadn't been made aware of that newsflash, and instead assumed her laughter was based in hysterical fear. "I'm coming. I'll be right there, Liv."

"No, no, I'm ok," she gasped out between laughs.

"Did you huff some paint fumes or something?" His concern was so obvious even under the joke.

It just made her want to hug him. She could barely contain herself until she got the chance. "I'm fine, El. I'm home. I'm just sitting here and I realized something and I just really wanted to tell you."

"What in god's name did you realize? Cause I'm not sure I believe anything short of recreational pharmaceuticals could make a person laugh like that."

She giggled, having to wait a moment until her smile faded enough that she could speak. "I love you. That's all."

He was dead silent, as though he really hadn't expected to ever hear those words from her.

Finally, the quiet got to her, making her wonder if she'd said something wrong. "El?" Her voice was much more timid, free of the laughter that had plagued her when she'd dialed. "Is something wrong?"

"You know, Olivia, sometimes you fucking frustrate the shit out of me." His voice was hard and flat and didn't hold a single note of humor. "Jesus fucking Christ, Liv, what are you thinking?"

"El?" Her voice cracked, sheer happiness turning to sharp pain instantly. He'd said he loved her. He'd seemed so honest in it. Was it possible he hadn't really meant it? Maybe he did love her, but just not like that.

"You decide to tell me that after you insist on running off? Fuck, Olivia, I've wanted to hear you say that for fucking years, woman!" He let out a laugh that didn't sound the least bit amused. "I swear the next time I get my hands on Huang I'm tearing him the fuck apart." He sighed in frustration. "I love you too, baby."

He wasn't mad. He loved her. For real loved her. She was shaking. The high to the low to the high again had sucked all the adrenaline right out of her body. But there was something else she wanted him to know, something that struck her at the alarming ease with which he returned her sentiment. He'd said those same words before, to his wife, to his children. She didn't doubt the veracity, but she knew he'd spoken them before. She took a deep breath.

"I've never said that to anyone before. I've never meant it before." She'd thought she'd loved him, but it took the awareness that only came with Howie's interference for her to know how true it was. She remembered those terrified moments in the dark, cold basement when she'd gotten over her initial outrage over the physical violence that had comprised the sex, when she'd just wanted to see his face again. It had taken eleven days after he'd saved her for her to realize that what she'd felt in those moments had been real, true, fairytale love.

"Olivia, listen to me very carefully. I love you, I do, but I'm not talking to you anymore until I can fucking touch you, ok?"

She laughed again, the tumultuous emotions rolling through her finding the first release they could. "Ok."

"Goodbye, Olivia."

She grinned, feeling the urge to say it one more time before she hung up. "I love you, El." She sat there grinning at the wall for a long, long time.

Splintered.5


	57. Day TwentyTwo, part 1

Day Twenty-Two

Nighttime really fucking sucked. She'd never realized it before, but lying there in her bed, staring at the minutes tick by on her clock, trying, and failing, to contort her comforter around her body in such a way that it might feel like Elliot was there spooning behind her, she finally realized that nighttime, especially being alone at nighttime, was a big fucking miserable experience. Usually, if she wasn't sleeping, she was working, mostly with Elliot, and therefore nighttime didn't suck so much.

But at some point, nighttime had become not so much a quiet respite from the pain of day in and day out of rape and murder and abuse, but rather the long ass period of time when she wasn't with Elliot.

So being sound asleep was really the only way to spend the hours. Except that she hadn't spent the night alone since she'd known the bliss that was Elliot's embrace, not if she discounted Howie's basement. Instead of seeing it as a failing of herself or neediness, Olivia determined that it was, in fact, simply a by-product of love. Puppy love. Her first foray into the wild ride. She wanted to be with him every second. She wanted to touch him, even the thought of something silly like holding his hand made her grin stupidly at her ceiling. She wanted to giggle and pass notes and confide in her girlfriends that he was so handsome.

And she wanted to hurry up and prove her point to Huang so she could spend every moment with Elliot.

She wasn't foolish enough to think it wouldn't wear off. She'd known Elliot for quite a few years and he knew exactly how to piss her off. And as she grew stronger, as Elliot realized she wasn't going to fall apart without him, they'd likely slip back into the patterns that made her realize he wasn't quite so perfect. Until then, however, she saw no problems with reveling in the happiness. It wasn't like she'd had a lot of it in her life

As she watched the digital clock tick one more minute into the nighttime, she told herself the creepy noises coming from the closet were in her head.

Two minutes later, she had one of her bookends ready to swing like a bat as she flung open the door. Unless the invisible man was hiding out in there, she told her racing heart that the noises had been in her head.

Two minutes after that, she was gripping her covers in fear, staring wide-eyed at the bedroom door, suffering from the displacement of the imaginary noises to the hall.

Fuck, it was after midnight, she declared, therefore she'd spent the night by herself. She grabbed her phone and called Elliot.

The smile was evident from his voice, although he was pretending to be disappointed. "I thought I told you not to call me."

"I miss you." She figured that her pathetic announcement ensure his forgiveness for the late hour of her call.

"I miss you too. But why aren't you asleep?" Although he was questioning her, she could tell from his voice that he wasn't sleeping either.

"Because I miss you." She felt stupid, but she loved the chuckle her words elicited from him. "And because I'm freaking myself out imagining noises."

"Did you check the closet?" He didn't need to say it to tell her how silly she was being.

Blushing from her behavior, she was thankful he was on the phone and not there in person to mock her. "Actually, I did."

"No monsters?" He was almost laughing, but he hadn't hung up.

"None at the moment. But that's not to say they didn't teleport to the living room when I opened the door." So what if she was embarrassing herself. At least she could hear his voice and although it was not a good substitute for being in his arms, she'd take what she could get.

"Why don't you check? I'd hate to have to worry all night."

"Fine." She was glad for the connection. It made her brave enough to ease open her bedroom door, slowly making her way to the living room, throwing on lights as she went. "Ok, it's all clear."

"You're sure?"

His reply was nearly lost under the sound of a loud thud. Her heart was racing as she whispered. "Shit, El, I think there's someone outside!"

His voice was soft, like he was right there with her. "But you live in an apartment building, Liv, there could be someone walking by, right?"

"No, I see a shadow right outside my door!" All her cop instincts had run off and hid, probably with her gun in Cragen's drawer. She wanted to run and hide too. Without her gun and badge, she felt like silly little Olivia.

"I'm right here, Liv. You'd better go check."

She wanted to whine, but she realized doing so would only draw the attacker's attention. With her heart in her throat, she tiptoed toward the door, took a deep breath, and looked through the peephole.

"Elliot!"

He was grinning happily. "I told you I was right here."

She threw the door open and flung herself into his arms. "You scared me!"

He was laughing, but squeezing her back at the same time. "I had to. You're so damn brave you would have left me to sit out here all night."

She released him long enough to slug him in the shoulder, but immediately made up for it by hugging him tightly once again. "I missed you."

"It hasn't been twelve hours, Liv." As harsh as his words might have seemed under any other circumstance, he was talking into her hair as his lips grazed across her ear.

Her arms moved, her hands slowly brushing down his chest before moving around his waist, playing along his belt. "I think you missed me too."

He chuckled, his mouth tracing around her ear, then moving to her cheek, her temple, her forehead, her nose. Finally, just as his lips were lighting on hers, he responded. "Now why on Earth would you suspect that?"

It only took a tiny shifting of her hips, just a fraction of an inch, before his body responded, his length starting to harden against her. She giggled as she kissed him. "Oh, just a hunch."

They made it as far as the couch, at least, the back of it. Standing up seemed to be taking too much energy away from touching Elliot and so she was glad to feel the furniture behind her legs, more than happy to let it support her while she attempted to unhook his belt. It was a involved task because not only was doing anything exceedingly complicated with Elliot's tongue in her mouth, but also her shoulder was protesting the way she'd stretched it up around Elliot when she'd first seen him, resulting in sharp, shooting pains reaching all the way into her hands.

But she continued with the business of unhooking it because if memory served her, Elliot's hands could make her forget that she had a shoulder altogether.

Elliot's mouth moved, abandoning her lips in favor of sliding down her throat, his tongue lapping at her pulse point, tasting her skin. He'd grown quite good at operating with one hand and so had her shirt up and off her before she knew what was happening. Not that she minded, because he immediately returned his tongue to her neck, carefully tasting his way along one of her shoulders and then the other.

While he was busy with driving her out of her mind, she focused on the damn belt, leaning her head against his chest while she worked the catch. As soon as she got it, she yanked it free of his pants, tossing it halfway across the room as a punishment for taunting her.

Elliot's laugh surprised her, especially because he'd lifted his face out of her throat long enough to notice how she flung his belt away. "Getting a little upset, are we?"

She pouted, then grinned. "It was being difficult."

He mirrored her grin. "Remind me not to piss you off."

Her hands found a new, easier goal. Still holding his stare, she pulled the hem of his shirt free from his pants, tugging at it and nodding her head to the side. "My shoulder's not cooperating."

He didn't need any more of an explanation, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it near his belt. "Your shoulder doesn't need to cooperate."

She laughed while she pressed her lips against his chest, feeling his bare skin with her hands as much as she could without moving her shoulder far. "Good thing your right hand's still working, huh?"

His eyes were twinkling and she loved it as he stretched his right arm out, threading his fingers through her hair, turning her face up to his. "I'll take care of you, Liv."

She grinned, seeing him start to lean in, turning her head before he did, letting her mouth fall on his arm, against the globe and anchor. She'd always wanted to touch that mark, that carefully crafted design that had once meant so much to him that he wanted to emblazon it onto his skin. She lifted her mouth from the tattoo, moving her fingers to caress the skin there.

Then she looked up at him, too thoroughly enthralled with the way he was smiling at her to be embarrassed. Stretching up on her toes, she explained herself, just before dropping a kiss on his mouth. "I always wanted to do that."

The sparkle in his eyes disappeared, a cold, pained look overwhelming him for a moment before he stepped back, his hands still on her shoulders, his arms extended. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

She didn't know what could have such a sobering effect on him, not just then, but she didn't think it was something good. Her heart was pounding in her throat, choking her voice to a whisper. "What?"

He took her hand, leading her around to the front of the couch. He sat down, spreading his legs and gesturing for her to sit between them. As soon as she perched herself just on the edge of the sofa, he wrapped his arms around her, securing her bare back against his chest, nestling his face over her shoulder, pressing his cheek next to hers.

He shifted his right arm, turning it so his tattoo was facing up. "While you were gone, I made a promise that I would be honest with you if I got you back."

She shivered at the mention of the time she didn't want to think about. Turning to face him, she pressed a kiss on his cheek. "I'm here and I don't care what you promised. It's ok." Her heart was still pounding and the tension in his voice, in his body, wasn't the kind she wanted. It wasn't the good kind that she could remedy.

He moved his arm again, shifting it under hers. "Feel it."

Terrified of what she was going to find out, terrified it would mean that Elliot changed his mind about loving her, she mutely did as he indicated, slowly drawing her fingers along his forearm. She'd just felt the same patch of skin, but she somehow missed the raised area. She looked at it, the first close inspection of it she'd ever had, noticing several patches of raised tissue under the dark ink.

She leaned down to look closer, seeing a semicircular pattern to the scar. "What happened?"

"When I was a kid, I was out playing and it started to rain. My mom told me not to track mud into the house, but I was seven and you know I don't listen, so I thought I'd wiped off my shoes, but I still tracked mud onto the kitchen floor."

She shivered again, her own life with her mother telling her what was coming, her own memories of hideous, harsh punishments for small, typical crimes of childhood. She couldn't believe it, although she couldn't deny that she'd wondered about it, especially when she'd seen how fiercely protective he was of children, especially when she'd seen how dangerously out of control he could get with child abusers. But still, the idea of Elliot, her strong, protective, invincible partner, young and innocent and helpless at the hands of a parent seemed absolutely beyond comprehension. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the idea. "No, no-"

"My father said I should have listened better. My mom was cooking dinner so dad threw the pot off the stove and held my arm to the burner."

She shook her head again, so easily able to see the scene that it might as well have been happening in front of her. "No, god, El."

His arms tightened around her. "When I begged him to stop he asked me how I liked it when people didn't listen to me."

Tears spilled down her cheeks, hating the man who was long dead. "I'm so sorry, El. I didn't – I mean, I thought- but-"

He held her tightly, rocking her. "Shhh, it's ok." His lips pressed against the side of her head. "You were honest with me." He shifted, leaning to his left, indicating the tattooed crucified Jesus on his shoulder. "This one, well,-"

She shook her head, unsure she could take anymore. But before she could tell him to stop, she realized he was trying to open up to her, to confide in her the way she'd always wanted, although she'd never wanted to hear horror stories about his childhood. She couldn't stop him. She couldn't cut him off from sharing something he'd kept inside for so long. So she twisted to the side, running her hand along the scar that lay under the religious symbol, wondering if the designs he'd chosen meant anything to him at all, or if they had simply been picked because they would hide something he didn't want people to see.

She squeezed his hand. "What happened?" She didn't want to know, but she wanted to listen to anything he wanted to tell her.

"I was thirteen and I had a mouth on me."

Unable to hold back her laugh, she let it out, hearing Elliot join her.

"Yeah, hard to imagine me talking back, right?" His arm squeezed her again, letting her know he didn't want to be telling it anymore than she wanted to hear it. "Dad was drunk and told me to get him another beer and I told him to get his lazy, drunk ass out of the chair and get it himself. Instead, he took the empty one in his hand, smashed it against the table and chased me out of the room." He shrugged behind her, but their position allowed her to feel the movement. "Only caught my arm, guess I was lucky he wasn't faster."

He continued through three more, explaining the true reasons for the tattoos she'd previously believed stained his perfect frame. She couldn't see them that way anymore. She saw them the way he did, knowing he could look at those spots and see something that he'd chosen, something he'd had control of, rather than discolored scars he'd been helpless to prevent. There were a few other scars, small ones, ones he hadn't covered with ink. Some were simply accidents, like falling off his bike. One was from the bullet that tore into his arm, a day she hadn't been there, when Dana Lewis had kept Elliot from leaving her.

But those were just scars, just run-ins that he'd managed to survive. He wasn't ashamed of those. They were badges of honor.

Satisfied that he'd explained what he'd wanted to, she turned sideways, letting him shift her into his lap. Her hand ran across his chest, once again marveling at the muscles, at the strength he always used to protect her, when it could have been so easy for him to be a bastard like his father. She felt closer to him than she ever had, knew something about him, even if it was just some of the details, that he'd never shared with Kathy, and she wanted to take him to her bed, prove to him that she still wanted him, that she still loved him. Prove that she didn't think any less of him for having survived more than she'd known.

But as her hand trailed down his chest, she felt another bump, a small scar he hadn't mentioned. Her brow furrowed, trying to search her memory for details that maybe he hadn't explained because she already knew. The tiny bump remained on the left side of his chest, the deep red coloring assuring that it wasn't that old of a scar.

"What's this one?" She'd listened to the worst of it, she knew; she wanted the rest of it.

His eyes clouded and he looked away. "Nothing."

The refusal only sparked her interest. She reached up, her fingers turning his jaw back to face her. "Come on." She smiled, hoping the seductive look on her face would loosen his tongue. "I want to know who had the nerve to mar this perfect chest." She leaned down, kissing his chest, letting her fingers smooth over the scar again.

"Perfect? I think you might be exaggerating a bit." He shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips. "Really, it wasn't anything big. A crazy kid with a pen stabbed me. No real damage, just hurt like fuck."

Even while her mouth worked against his pecs, she tried to think. "I don't remember that."

"You were off with the feds."

Ice water ran through her, as she recalled those horrible, dark, lonely weeks in Oregon, those horrible, dark lonely weeks when she'd left Special Victims, those horrible, dark, lonely months when she'd thought she was losing him. Her tears were back, even as she assured herself that it was over, long behind them, that they would never be there again.

Leaning down, she pressed her lips against that scar, wishing she could have been there to stop it. "I'm sorry." And she was. For so much more than that visual reminder.

His splint pressed into her back, pulling her closer, while his good hand sifted through her hair once again. His self-assured smirk was back in place, reminding her that he loved her and he knew she loved him and they didn't need to hide behind walls with each other anymore. "It's fine, Liv." He leaned in to capture her lips before he glanced down, quite obviously eyeing her breasts. "Now, see, if you'd been stabbed in the chest, that would have been a catastrophe."

With a laugh, she stood up, using her hands to draw his eyes back up to her face. "I think it's about time we move this to the bed."

She didn't need to ask him twice. The glint in his eyes told her that, had it not been for his injured wrist, he might have thrown her over his shoulder and carted her off to the bed caveman style.

Instead he grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him. "Yeah, Liv, it's definitely about time." And before she could say anything else, he was kissing her.

Splintered.7


	58. Day TwentyTwo, part 2

Day Twenty-Two, cont'd

His hand was magic on her skin. Light and gentle and soothing and sweet. Exactly not how he'd been that day in the crib. But just like that day in the crib, he somehow knew exactly what she needed and he was more than willing to give it to her.

At first, his fingers were locked around her head as he held her close for a wonderfully deep, searing kiss that left no room for confusion as to the veracity of his claim that he loved her. As his tongue tangled with hers, mapping her, marking her, claiming her, his good hand shifted, his fingers taking the time to learn her carefully in a way he hadn't the first time. His touch slid along her bare shoulder, down her arm and back up, slowly tracing along her collar bone, then down her side, dipping around to caress her back as well.

He'd been so gentle with her since he'd found her, but it was different this time. It wasn't teasing, it wasn't longing, it wasn't going to stop abruptly. It was truly time, she knew, for them to make love, finally, really. And that was exactly what his hand was telling her. She wished they'd been able to wait until they were free from the injuries that plagued them, from the evidence that someone had tried to separate them, but it almost seemed right that they came together just as they were. They weren't perfect, they never had been. But together, together they were phenomenal.

She had to break the kiss, pulling her mouth from his to drag in a breath, when the pads of his fingertips lightly traced over her breasts, first one then the other. He'd taken her shirt off her ages ago, it seemed, so long that she'd nearly forgotten that she was bared to him. But unlike other men, he hadn't gone straight for the prize, instead taking his time and touching her all over, slowly focusing in on where she wanted him. Her shoulder was still uncooperative, more or less pinning her arm around his waist. Her other arm, though, was free to move, free to explore, and she traced the firm curves of the muscles in his chest and arms, making it to his shoulder before she froze.

His fingers had finally maneuvered their way to her nipple, pinching it lightly, flicking his nails gently across the ridiculously sensitive flesh. She let her head fall back, reveling in the sensation, knowing his splinted arm was locked around her to prevent her from falling. Her nails dug into him, one set on his back, the other gouging holes in his shoulder as she whimpered.

Just as she opened her eyes, thinking she might be able to actively participate again, Elliot shifted, both of his arms winding around her waist as he ducked down, taking one of her nipples in his mouth. Her knees gave out, leaving his strong arms holding her off the ground. He didn't mind. He didn't even seem to notice. His mouth just kept working on her breast, licking, sucking, his tongue swirling around her nipple until she was sure that weak knees were the least of her problems. Actually passing out was bound to be more embarrassing.

Although he was perfectly happy to continue working away, going to town on her breasts, lavishing attention on each of them, Olivia wasn't. Not that she really wanted him to stop. But she did want to participate. She wanted the chance to make him weak in the knees, although she figured it would probably be better to get him on the bed first since she certainly wouldn't be able to catch him one-handed.

With her good hand, she caught his chin, pulling his face up from her chest. It was clear in his disappointed eyes that he was absolutely not done with his fun, but he was certainly eager to see how she would direct him. She liked that he was determined to be a good student and she smiled, angling her head toward her rumpled bed.

"Bed?"

He nodded, leaning down to suck on her breast some more.

She moaned at the sensation, realizing that he had every intention of plying multiple climaxes out of her body. The thought sent another wave of heat through her, gathering into a tingling knot between her legs that she knew he'd be all to happy to work loose for her. She clawed at his chin again, leaving her nails pressing into his skin to tell him she wasn't joking.

"Bed."

"Going." He kept her in his arms, bent over backwards where she'd collapsed, his mouth once again fastening around her nipple like he was some kind of starving infant. He stayed like that, amazingly able to multi-task, as he lowered her onto the bed.

She could already feel it building when her back hit the mattress, but then his body moved atop hers, his erection straining against his pants, teasing her body with the contact he wasn't yet giving her. Unable to stop herself, she thrust her hips up toward him, making solid contact with his dick, pressing herself against him. His mouth tightened as he answered her thrust with one of his own, his free hand moving to caress the nipple that wasn't in his mouth.

It was perfect, she realized, the three most sensitive places on her body in contact with his, his gentle, loving motions, his desire for her. She lifted her legs, letting him settle between them as she wrapped herself around him. The additional pressure was the last straw to set her first orgasm ripping through her, her hands, busted shoulder and all, squeezing his head tightly against her breast lest he stop before she was quite done enjoying his handiwork.

When she finally released the death grip on his head, when her arms fell to the side as the last shudders of utter wonder raked through her, he lifted up, smiling a rather smug little smile at her.

"Like that, did you?"

She couldn't even make a face to tell him what she thought of his cocky attitude, but considering that his mouth had reduced her to that state, she was willing to let it slide. But then she saw the twinkle in his eyes as he chuckled.

"I can do better."

She couldn't really argue, not until the power of speech returned to her. She couldn't even stop him when he carefully untangled her legs from his waist. It wasn't like she was all that inclined to stop him, not when the trail of open-mouthed kisses he was leaving on her stomach telegraphed exactly what his plans were. He yanked her pants and underwear free of her, kissing her legs as he did, removing his own quickly while he kissed his way back up her other leg. She wanted to acknowledge his skill, but she could only sigh as he nudged her legs further apart, his hot breath tickling her dark curls.

She had wanted to participate, to make him feel the way he was making her feel, but then she felt his fingers, combing through her curls, dancing over her clit, sliding inside of her, testing her. She was almost embarrassed at the wellspring of fluid waiting for him there, but it felt too good for her to care much.

She felt his breath first, the hot rush of air raising goosebumps long every inch of her flesh. She shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable with how he was just looking at her. Before she could panic that he was backing out of it, his mouth finally moved, his lips pressing against her clit, almost painfully slow to open. His tongue moved out just as slowly, just barely making contact with her body.

And even with that tentative contact, so light she could barely feel it, her nails dug into the covers, trying to secure her in the present. Because she was afraid she might float off into the clouds.

His tongue pressed harder, moving in deliberate strokes, up and down, then circling as his lips closed over her clit, sucking on it, fondling it with his tongue. His fingers didn't take a break. His splint was resting on her belly, holding her hips still, while his other hand, good lord, his other hand, relentlessly plunged in and out of her with such a perfect rhythm she wondered if he didn't have some kind of psychic link to her, telling him what would feel so amazing.

She was panting, trying to pull enough oxygen into her lungs to satisfy her body's demands. Except her body was trying to spontaneously combust, she was sure of it. All of her muscles were out of control, tensing and releasing without any pattern, she felt like she was running another marathon, the way her whole body was screaming, listening to someone else's commands, her pathetic attempts to keep up falling far short.

And Elliot, god, the man had no mercy. None at all. His lips kept sucking. His tongue kept caressing. His fingers kept sliding. His splint kept her hips motionless, which she imagined was good, because when her back arched without any warning, lifting her shoulders off the bed, sending her head falling backwards, she supposed it was a good thing that she didn't somersault right out of the room.

Well, she might have thought it. But just then, she was being struck by lightening, millions and millions of volts of electricity rocketing through her body, setting her nerves on fire, burning through her tired muscles, melting her body, her brain, her thoughts into a useless, fiery puddle right in the middle of her bed.

At least she didn't need to worry about breathing anymore since he'd fucking killed her.

And still, even as she slowly, tenuously decided to assume she hadn't actually melted, although she wasn't yet quite convinced of that, his mouth and hand continued to work at her, softly, gently guiding her body back down while she continued to tremble. Her internal muscles lasting the longest, clutching at his hand as though they didn't want him to ever stop.

She'd never in her life rolled over after her turn and wanted to forget about the sex and just sleep. After the workout she'd just had, she wasn't sure she could coordinate enough of her body to even roll over. So she lay there, wondering if Elliot would mind that she didn't move a damn muscle while he fucked her.

But surprisingly, as he slid up the length of her, finally settling his erection between her legs, pressing his tongue into to her mouth, she felt her body start to hum once again. Apparently she was going to keep buzzing until she wasn't in contact with a live wire anymore.

Grinning against his mouth, she figured that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Fuck what Huang said. She wasn't letting go of Elliot. Ever. Period.

She had a score to settle with him too. With strength and synchronization she hadn't even realized she still possessed, she rolled him over, laughing at his surprise, straddling his stomach, leaning in for another kiss.

God, that man and his tongue… It ought to be listed as a deadly weapon.

And his eyes too, especially the way they widened and seemed to glow almost as she wiggled, sliding herself down his body, licking and kissing his chest, as he caught on to what she was doing. His mouth opened, his breathing speeding up as she worked her way lower. She took her time, exploring his body for the first time. He'd been behind her, completely in control of their first encounter. She wanted to play, to taste him, to make her own claim of his body.

But eventually, she'd nipped and licked and kissed him silly, knowing she was simply driving him out of his mind, thinking it only fair for trying to kill her with his own tongue. She looked up at him, holding his eyes, still astounded by the connection she felt to him, as her fingers traced along his hip and thigh. The way he was staring at her, the way his whole body was shaking, it destroyed any thoughts she had about torturing him. Her fingers brushed his balls, feeling his body tense, hearing his breath hitch, and then she reached for him, her fingers curling around his dick, holding it steady as she leaned down with a smile on her lips.

She licked the tip first, knowing he was already eager, starting out carefully, giving him enough warning to hold himself under control. Her tongue moved out, tracing around his head, slowly exploring the length of him to where he disappeared behind her hand. She shifted her hand, using the trail of moisture left by her tongue to loosen her grip, letting her hand slide along him. She licked her way back up to the tip, feeling his whole body shudder as she took the tip into her mouth. She flicked her tongue around him, touching him, tasting him, trying to retain her own control. She wanted to pull him all the way, as far as she could, return the favor, let him lose himself under the ministrations of her mouth. But she wanted to be selfish too, saving that idea for later, needing to make love to him the way they hadn't done yet.

So she checked herself, licking at him, sucking on him, working her mouth up and down in time with the pumping of her hand, managing to give him a good rhythm, wanting him to enjoy the attention the way she had, yet knowing she couldn't take him to that height, not like that, not yet.

And when she heard his strangled, barely recognizable voice groaning her name, she knew she was getting close. Still, she kept going, pumping her mouth along him, licking at him, tasting the first bits of semen that started to escape.

But his hand was serious when it wrapped around her wrist, his voice harder and strained. "Stop, Liv, now."

She knew he wasn't kidding and she didn't want to push him. Not when she could let him down and take him right back up. The man was flat on his back, after all. She let him slide from her mouth with a pop, giggling at the inanity of both the sound and the action, making up for her behavior by pulling herself back up to straddle him. She smiled at him, expecting that he'd want to fuck, especially after she'd brought him so close.

Instead, he reached for her face with both hands, belatedly remembering that one of them was almost entirely useless in the splint. That one dropped heavily onto the bed in a move she knew from his wince he'd regret in the morning. The other one kept going, though, sliding along her cheek, pulling her face down to his. Her mouth pressed against his, falling open before he had the chance to ask, invading his mouth with her tongue before he could stop her. The hand in her hair tensed, as did his whole body.

She was in charge this time.

And he liked it.

She kept kissing him, letting up for a few seconds now and then to let his tongue into her mouth, allowing him to think he might be able to wrestle the control back from her. But every time she feared he might, every time his kisses reached that point where she knew her brain was fogging up like car windows, she sifted her hips, teasing both of them with the touch of her clit to his dick.

As much fun as kissing him was, and it was a whole hell of a lot of fun, she had more in mind. She backed off, kissing her way along his chin and throat, pulling a piece of his skin between her teeth and sucking on it until she knew that he'd have no way to hide the mark. She didn't care that people would know where and who it had come from. It was a claim and she wanted the world to know he was hers.

That tiny bit of work accomplished, she reached down, forcing her hand between their bodies, lining him up as he muttered a string of incomprehensible words at her. She giggled again, feeling incredibly powerful and happy and in love as she eased herself down slowly until her butt rested on his thighs.

He moaned again, probably trying to encourage her to do something besides sit there, but she was too fucking enthralled with the feeling of him inside her, deeper than he had been before. He fit inside her, like he was supposed to be there, in a way no one else had, and she knew, blubbering romantic notions of sex aside, it was probably because he filled her heart and mind and soul in a way no other man ever had. So it was only fitting that his body fit hers perfectly. Those times she'd dared think of such a thing, she had to admit she'd never expected that it wouldn't feel right. They worked together so well in every other way, of course they complemented each other in bed too.

It was when his hips pathetically tried to thrust with her full body weight resting on them that she came back to herself, remembering that she was on top and therefore, just sitting there wasn't going to cut it. Leaning forward, she pressed her arms, ignoring her crybaby shoulder, to either side of his head, holding either side of his face as she kissed him, her legs lifting her body up, pulling away until he was almost out of her before lowering herself back down. She wanted to start it off right, slow and long and perfect, because she knew that things were going to get fast and short and messy rather quickly. Sure, they worked well together, but that didn't mean it was neat.

He allowed her a couple long, slow strokes before his good hand clamped around her hip, his fingers digging painfully into her, sure to leave bruises. "Fuck, Liv!"

She giggled again, knowing it was wrong, yet loving that he was so completely at her mercy. It was only fair, she swore, since he'd so thrown her entirely out of her element by fucking her brains out in the crib that day.

Even so, she started to speed up, loving the feel of him inside of her, but wanting more, harder, deeper, faster, to release the tension that was causing her legs to squeeze his sides involuntarily as she moved above him. Her hands moved down his chest, settling on his belly first, then moving to the bed on either side, trying to help her legs with some of the work of the faster rhythm.

He reached for her again, both hands, again groaning as the broken one fell uselessly to the side. The other, however, started on one of her shaking thighs, skimming over her skin, glancing over her hips and abdomen, finally cupping her breast.

Now, it had been one of Olivia's unfortunate experiences with several men that made her nervous as he touched her. Because, for some confounding reason, she'd found that men seemed to think that her breasts were meant to be used as handles of some sort when she was on top. And so, although she winced inwardly when he made contact, she was still willing to trust him.

Instead of closing around her hard, using the sensitive tissue to guide her movements, he simply touched her. Felt her.

Leaving her to feel very, very sad that his broken hand wasn't able to help out. Because it was that stimulating, that hot, to have his feather light touch on her nipple as she rode him hard.

Even more turned on, she increased the speed, feeling the sweat building on her skin, causing her hair to stick to her face as it swung, leaving wet spots and trails as the beads fell from her onto Elliot. She tried to speed up even more, feeling the increasingly erratic thrusts from his hips, knowing she was so close, hating that she might miss yet another release, worried that her leg muscles would burn out before his control did.

And then his hand moved, leaving her breast, trailing his fingertips down past her belly, dipping into her curls, rubbing her clit as she growled at him.

She'd never been much for talking during sex, not short of telling someone when they were doing something that hurt. She wasn't really one for making guttural sounds or screaming either. She was usually quiet, letting her brain concentrate on feeling instead of speaking. But she heard the whimpering, the moaning, the animalistic growl that came from her own throat as he massaged her clit, pumping his hips against hers opposite her own rhythm.

She felt like she was going to go spinning off into space again and she grabbed the sheets in fierce fists, screaming at the top of her lungs when she felt the orgasm take her. She felt her whole body tighten almost painfully, knowing that she'd clenched herself so tightly around Elliot's dick that he couldn't possibly avoid tumbling over the side with her, not with how fucking close he'd been. Tight as her body was around him, she felt it as he thrust hard into her, an almost searing pain coming while she was still flying from him moving as her body was trying to hold him still. But the pain disappeared that fast, feeling the pressure, feeling his release inside of her.

But she couldn't tell anymore than that as her vision faded to complete black, her eyes squeezing closed as stars exploded in her head. She felt herself falling and she wanted to scream again, except she was already screaming, still screaming, holding onto Elliot and fearing that she would never stop falling.

When she was aware again, she opened her eyes, finding herself collapsed and breathing heavily on Elliot's chest. She felt his breathing, recognizing the slightly winded pattern of it, and felt better for having exhausted herself, since he clearly was as worn out as she was.

She found the strength to lift her head, her motion forcing Elliot to open his eyes. She smiled at him, her emotions running away from her before she could think to censor them. "I love you."

There was no time for her to be embarrassed or to remember that she didn't need to be embarrassed. He smiled back at her, fastening his arms, splint and all, around her as he rolled them to the side. "I love you."

She grinned as she tucked her face back into his chest, inhaling the scent of him and sweat and them enjoying one another, loving the feel of his soft dick still partially inside her. She wanted to know when he was ready for another round. But first, she needed some sleep. Her lips pressed against the scar on his chest, thinking of how violently she'd hurt anyone, child or not, who tried to hurt him again.

And she drifted off to sleep listening to Elliot breathe.

Splintered.7


	59. Day TwentySeven, part 1

Day Twenty-Seven

Olivia decided that if she had to die, she would die happy. Until recently, she'd been afraid things weren't really going to work out. Mostly due to the unconventional way they'd first come together, the pure heat, the senseless passion, the animalistic release, she'd thought it might have been ruined. Contrary to their claims of love and promises of continued friendship, Olivia hadn't been a bit convinced that it would actually work out that way. At best, she'd honestly expected her disappearance would serve to erase the discomfort of having had to face each other immediately afterwards, leaving them to ignore, or forget, what they'd done. At worst, she'd thought that they would be unable to deal with it and each other and they'd avoid each other until they stopped seeing each other at all.

Of course, every moment that had gone by since that day when he'd found her had been chipping away at the doubt that had always gotten the best of her whenever she contemplated more of a relationship with him. He hadn't been a jerk. He hadn't wanted to forget what they'd done and he hadn't wanted it to be a pattern either. Elliot, it seemed, was more perfect than she could have imagined him to be. Because he wasn't perfect, he was human. He had his flaws. He had his own problems. And even when he got snippy with her, she knew she never had to fear him.

Starting the morning after they'd made love, truly made love for the first time, she woke up to find herself cuddled in Elliot's arms. She'd never really given any thought to when he woke up in the morning, mostly because they were pretty much always available and usually sleep deprived. She'd always been a night owl herself, having no problem keeping the late hours the job often required of her, dreading the early mornings. It had always been her pattern to drag her sleepy ass out of bed in the morning, seriously regret whatever had possessed her to stay up too late the night before, and hit the streets for a run until her brain was awake enough to handle something so complicated as turning on the coffee maker and taking a shower.

So it was a strange, though welcome, experience to wake up in the morning to find that Elliot, who was up before the sun everyday, was lying there, snuggling close to her, smiling at her, rubbing her arm or her back or something. As pleasant as it was, her first instinct was still always to be a grouch, bitching and groaning about having been up late, even if it was because they'd been busy going at it like rabbits, and thinking about how much she didn't really want to go out for a jog.

But Elliot silenced her before she got herself too bogged down in the mood, always ready to shut her up by placing his mouth firmly over her own, happily kissing her, and quite often doing other things too, until she was in a better mood.

And then, mostly after she decided that having sex in the morning was infinitely better exercise than jogging in the cold, she'd drag her happily tired body to the kitchen to make the coffee while Elliot took one of his phenomenally short showers. She kept her hair short because it was faster to wash and dry and style, but seeing the ease with which the man could get up, showered, shaved and dressed made her wonder if she shouldn't keep her hair as short as his. By the time he raced through the kitchen, announcing that he was going to be late and stealing a sip of her coffee since he didn't have time for his own, she discounted the idea of getting a hair cut because she knew she'd simply never have that much energy in the morning, no matter how sweetly Elliot kissed her.

Although, admittedly, kissing her was not the way to convince her to get out of bed.

And everyday, when he leaned in for a coffee-flavored kiss goodbye, he'd get just as distracted as she did, letting the emotions and the feelings overtake good sense. He'd eventually leave, trying to button his shirt while tucking it back in, generally looking like he'd slept in his clothes.

It always made her grin, thinking that at the very least his attire made it look like he was living on his own, fending for himself with the iron, and thus kept the fact that they were more or less living together from prying eyes.

After five days of sitting around doing nothing and calling Elliot every ten minutes to tell him that she was bored and that she missed him and offering a fairly detailed description of the sorts of things she might be willing to do for him if he could slip away from work for his lunch, Olivia had absolutely had it. She'd proven to Huang that she could last a few hours without Elliot, told herself she could do more if she actually wanted to, but short of explaining to Huang how exactly nightmares had nothing to do with the bags under her eyes from not sleeping, she was pretty much left in a hurry-up-and-wait status. Though Elliot apparently hadn't had any reservations about filling the psychiatrist in on the intimate details of that first time in the crib, Olivia herself had no desire whatsoever to report to a coworker that Elliot had her awake and screaming out for Jesus to save her all hours of the night.

She figured that Huang could keep her at bay forever because he didn't have any problem ignoring her when she tried to bait him, unlike Elliot who'd never been able to resist a good, pointless argument. Cragen, however, was more likely to be the weak point. Cragen was already upset about being down a detective. Special Victims was, as usual, swamped. Therefore, Olivia figured that if she marched into the unit, appearing perfectly fit for duty and acting relatively normal, relatively of course because she'd be trying to silently lure Elliot up to the crib the whole time, it would make Cragen pressure Huang to allow her to return to work.

And returning to work was the last thing left on her mental list of things she needed to do before she could really start pretending Howie had never happened. He'd had her for a week and tied up her life for another two. It was far more time than she'd ever allowed a perp to control her life and she wanted it done. Over. Gone. She wanted to put it in the cabinet and never look at it again.

So she spent a long time getting dressed, carefully taking an hour to pick out just the right clothes to convey the message that she was off work but fine, making sure her hair looked so perfect that Cragen might notice she had nothing else to do or worry about besides putting every strand of hair in the right place, applying her makeup so that the Elliot's-been-keeping-me-up-at-night bags under her eyes were hidden and giving her cheeks a nice healthy glow.

She'd walked that same route countless numbers of times, yet it felt strange. Not new, but not quite familiar either. She'd forced herself to take a deep breath and walk past the alley without panicking several times in the intervening days, but even so, she knew, deep down, that she would never ever be the same woman she'd been that night. It hadn't necessarily been Howie that had changed her; there were other things – that she'd survived the experience, that Elliot had endured and survived his own side of it, that their relationship was undeniably altered. Things were different and so she had to change and so everything was new, even those same streets she'd walked many, many times.

Olivia wasn't the type to wax poetic; she was more the type who'd want to punch someone for waxing poetic. But she knew that those happy mornings with Elliot, those amazing nights, were ones that she'd remember forever. They were the groundwork for something different, something good. The beginning of something she knew she'd never forget. Someday, she'd be sitting in her wheelchair at the old folks home, laughing at Elliot's pathetic attempts to flirt with the nurses, remembering those days. It made her sad to think that it might never be so good again.

The unexpected melancholy chased her into the precinct where friendly faces smiled and nodded, mercifully not paying too much attention to her. She was afraid that a swarm of well-wishers might bring tears to her face, and tears would completely ruin the show she was intending to put on. Still, she was forcing them back as she turned the corner, taking in the sight of the bullpen for the first time.

It was the same as always. The same hum of activity, dozens of voicing talking simultaneously, computers beeping, drawers slamming, chairs rolling, doors squeaking. Boxes of shit were haphazardly piled around, waiting for some sucker to be bored enough to fill out the forms to send them to archives. Munch and Lake were standing by the board, alternately pointing and shaking their heads at something that had been tacked there. Fin was filling his coffee cup. Elliot was picking at his keyboard, even more pathetically slow than normal with one hand out of commission.

She stood there silently, trying not to feel overwhelmed with happiness that at least one thing was the same as she remembered. The tears were pricking her eyes and she fought with all of her strength to hold them back. She didn't want to cry. She was too fucking happy. And she wasn't so soft and sentimental that she'd cry from happiness. Not yet.

Finished pouring sugar into his coffee, Fin turned away from the table, his eyes scanning the room as though he instinctively recognized something had changed while his back was turned. Elliot seemed to recognize it too, his head swinging around toward her at the same time Fin's face lit up in a smile.

"Olivia!" Fin was halfway across the room in two steps, but then she couldn't see him anymore.

Elliot was on his feet, blocking her view, practically running to her side, his hands reaching for her and only remembering at the last moment that he wasn't supposed to touch her, at least not in public. "Liv, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, unable to speak around the tears. Just as she'd feared downstairs, a crowd had gathered, bringing the tears to the surface. Elliot's protective frame held them at bay, knowing that she was upset, fearing that the upset had driven her to seek him out. She reached for his hand, hoping no one would notice, needing the contact more than she cared about rumors.

Munch's voice sounded above the crowd, his hands pushing people apart. "Move it, people, give the lady some room!" Whether from kindness or his words, the group dispersed, patting her on the back and offering greetings as they turned their attention to other things.

She was grateful for Munch's intervention, but still unable to say anything. She couldn't even look at him. Her eyes were locked on Elliot's, always desperate for that link to him no matter how few hours they spent apart. She knew better than anyone that a lot of things could go terribly wrong when she least expected it. She never wanted to take a moment with him for granted.

Elliot moved forward, not understanding her silence. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Hey, it's ok. You're all right."

Returning the hug, she shook her head and tested her voice to see if it would work. "I'm ok. I just wanted to stop by and see everybody."

Elliot backed up, dropping his arms awkwardly back to his sides. Olivia thought his concern over what people would think of him hugging her actually made for a good cover, probably appearing to the observers that he wasn't comfortable with touching her. Although, if his embarrassed admissions were anything to go by, he'd made quite the ass out of himself while she was missing and thoroughly convinced everyone that they were sleeping together.

Munch butted back in, squeezing himself in front of Olivia until Elliot backed up to a more respectable distance. His hand fell on her shoulder, unaware of the soreness that lingered mainly because of her inability to stop moving it. "It's good to see you, Liv." He smiled warmly and held her eyes, the closest thing she figured he would get to a hug.

She nodded, ducking her head when she felt a blush rising to her face. "Thanks."

Fin was right beside her then, sneaking against her other side, sliding his arm around her waist after batting Munch's hand away. "Damn, Munch, her shoulder's busted, be careful."

Munch backed up, instantly sorry. "Lord, no, we don't want to break her again."

Fin was chuckling as he escorted Olivia to her desk. "Better watch out, partner, cause it's your turn to babysit Stabler if something happens to her."

Elliot ducked down while the blush spread across his face. "I've still got one good hand, Fin."

Staying perched beside her until she was seated, Fin winked at her. "Welcome back, baby." Then he joined Munch, politely hovering from a few feet away.

Lake nodded over at her, forever uncomfortable with the group dynamic. "It's nice to have you back."

She smiled, still mortified at the way they were all watching her. "I'm not back, not yet." Her eyes slid over, as they invariably did, to land on Elliot's. "I was lonely, so I decided to come by for a visit."

Though Elliot certainly knew better, he was doing his best to pretend they hadn't been joined at the hip, or slightly lower, since her return. "Damn, I was hoping you were here to save me from all this paperwork."

"If I'm going to have to help you with that, I'm never coming back." She grinned happily, relieved that they were still able to fall perfectly in step as partners, even if she knew their personal relationship would preclude their continuing partnership. What was theirs was theirs alone, and she didn't want to share it with anyone, not just yet.

There was a sudden, uneasy quiet just before the sound of Cragen's door opening. "What the hell is going on out here? Why's everyone just standing around?" Almost as soon as he and Huang emerged from his office, Cragen's eyes fell on Olivia. A moment later, his face lit up with an enormous grin. "If you're not a sight for sore eyes, Benson-" He nodded his head at Elliot. "I've about had it listening to him whine about the paperwork."

She laughed, appreciating that although he was making a big deal about her presence, he wasn't trying to embarrass her. "I'm not sure I can really help you out there."

Cragen's attention was split between Huang and Olivia. "Is this an early birthday present?"

Olivia shook her head. "I'm just here to visit." She glanced at Huang. "Unless someone thinks I'm well enough to work."

Cragen latched onto her words, just as she'd expected. "She looks good to me, doc."

Huang looked up then, glaring at Olivia for setting him up. He could hardly say she wasn't well, not without making himself look ridiculous. "We'll see."

Cragen shook his head, issued a threat for people to do something productive, and then went back to his office so he could pretend he didn't know that everyone was ignoring him. As soon as Huang said his goodbyes, Olivia grinned at Elliot. "That's not a no."

She could see the conflicting emotions written across his face. He was happy that she was well and getting something she wanted, but he didn't want her going back to work in a dangerous job where she could get hurt. He was thinking about how his fears had just come true; she knew it because she was thinking it too.

But he smiled, meeting her eyes. "You're good as new."

New. The word sent a shiver through her. Because there was so much new that she didn't want anymore. And because they'd briefly touched on Elliot's promise to Cragen that one of them was going to transfer. She'd been horrified to hear it, scared to death and miserable at the thought of someone else watching her partner's back, but she couldn't be angry at him, not when he'd explained that he was practically out of his mind with guilt and worry about her at the time.

She shook her head, refusing to let it sink in. Instead, she let her eyes fall on the stack of boxes along the wall, the collection seeming to have grown exponentially in her absence. "Have you been that busy?"

Elliot briefly glanced in the direction of her stare, but it was Fin that answered. "That would be your case."

There were probably around a hundred boxes piled up. "What? How?" She couldn't even pick a question. She'd never seen so many files devoted to one case. "No way. Even IAB wouldn't collect that much paper on one person."

Munch laughed as he opened one of the boxes, lifting out a handful of pictures. "Elliot must have neglected to mention his ex-wife's overzealous lawyer's obsessive-compulsive PI."

Her eyes moved to find Elliot's for verification, but he was staring at his computer, a fairly obvious sign that Munch was dead serious. "Pictures?"

Fin laughed, although it kind of sounded like a groan. "Thousands of them."

Horrified, Olivia looked at the three men. "Pictures of what?"

Elliot spoke up, but he didn't return her glance. "You, me, the kids, everywhere and everything we were or saw or did for about a month."

She kicked him under the desk, not wanting to draw attention to the gesture and only realizing belatedly that everyone was staring at them and therefore noticed it anyway. She didn't know what was in those pictures, but there had to be something or he would have told her about them. And he hadn't told her about a PI following her around either. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her eyes, her voice, were more accusing that questioning.

His eyes finally moved from his monitor, the same accusation mirrored back at her. "Why didn't you tell me you saw Marcus Avery?"

"Because it wasn't any of your business." She hadn't meant to snap at him. She was just angry that he had, as always, left out an important detail, one that she would have liked to have been prepared for before she faced her coworkers again.

But Elliot, as always, was more than happy to build a fight out of nothing at all. His eyes were dark and angry as he glared at her. "And my divorce isn't any of yours."

Olivia was glad she was already sitting down because she felt like she'd just been sucker punched. She could feel herself shaking as she pushed herself to her feet, praying like hell that no one would notice. Her voice was stronger than she expected. "No, it certainly isn't. So how the hell did I get involved in it?"

If Elliot realized she was shaking, he didn't show it. Nor did his anger soften as he looked at her. "Because apparently you and I spend too much time together."

She was definitely shaking, so hard she put her hand on her desk to steady herself as she leaned down to glare at her partner. "Conveniently, that's not going to be a problem anymore." As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them, knowing that, petty fights aside, she didn't ever want to distance herself from the man. But she couldn't help it and she couldn't voice her change of heart, her pride wouldn't allow it. Instead, she stormed toward the door, knowing full well that Elliot wasn't going to stop her and pretending that didn't hurt like hell.

Splintered.6


	60. Day TwentySeven, part 2

_AN: I do apologize for how long this has taken. I recently returned to work after 2 years off and it has totally sucked out all of my energy. This is getting close to the end, but it's not quite here yet!_

Day Twenty-Seven, cont'd

There was a man standing at her door when she got home. For the briefest of moments, her heart soared at the thought that Elliot had raced after her and beat her home in his car. But reality hit her, telling her that the man before her was too short, too skinny, and wearing blue leather sneakers Elliot would sooner die than put on his feet. Not to mention the green nylon jacket that Olivia would kill him for trying to put on.

But as the man turned, Olivia immediately forgave him for his fashion transgressions. In his green nylon covered arms was a large glass vase with an arrangement of flowers so tall they obscured his face. It seemed the purple and blue flowers were speaking to her, a deep voice inquiring if she lived there.

She nodded as she put her key in the door, pushing it open and accepting the flowers.

Free of the cumbersome arrangement, the young man stepped back. "Have a good day, ma'am." Then he was gone before she finished wincing.

She understood that he was trying to be polite, but her mind still equated "ma'am" with shriveled old ladies with blue hair and pink dogs. She hated that, although she knew she looked good for her age, her face no longer earned the assumption that she was a "miss." Not that she had ever appreciated being called that either in her younger days when she'd longed for respect. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, she turned her attention back to the flowers.

She set them on the coffee table and sat back on the couch to admire them. There was no need to check the card. They were obviously from Elliot. It made her smile to think of how he must have scrambled to order them and get them delivered so quickly. She knew he had to have been on the phone before she even got out of the precinct.

Leaning forward, she inhaled the sweet, fragrant scent. He was good; she had to give him that. He hadn't gone for the obvious red roses or the cheesy pink ones. She had no clue what the beautiful blossoms were called, but she liked them. She plucked the card from its slot nestled among the blooms, wondering what he'd wanted to say that he'd been willing to tell the florist.

The note was simple and short, saying everything there was to say. _I love you._ That was it.

She was grinning as she reached for the phone. He picked up on the first ring, expecting her call, but unable to beat her to the first word. "I love you too. Thank you."

He was smiling, she could hear it in his voice. "What would you have done if Cragen had picked up my line?"

"Probably the same damn thing."

His chuckle rang through the line, their fight quickly dissipating. "Should I be jealous now or are you just in a much better mood than you were a few minutes ago?"

She laughed, wishing she could hug him for the undercurrent of honesty she heard in his joke of jealousy. "There's no reason to be jealous, El. I'm just indebted to the man who introduced us."

"Right, how could I forget something I'll be eternally grateful for? I should thank him for real."

"You might refrain from declaring your love for him though, because I'm not interested in having to get you discharged from Bellevue." She expected a quick, joking response. Instead, there was silence that lasted a beat longer than was comfortable. "El, what?"

"I don't know. Casey and Huang are in Cragen's office and they're all staring at me." His voice was changing, clear one moment, fading the next. Olivia could practically see the paranoid way he was glancing at them over his shoulder.

All of her instincts told her to comfort him, to brush off his suspicions, but, exactly as she'd denied so very many times to Huang, her time with Howie had changed her. Rather than assuring him that his coworkers would never keep something important from him, she found herself wishing she was there to assess the situation herself.

Before she could think of what to say, he broke the silence. "Cragen's waving me over. I'll call you right back." And then the call was disconnected, leaving Olivia to wonder just what the hell was about to drop.

She tried everything she could think of to distract herself. She mopped the kitchen floor. She did a load of laundry. She spent an hour channel surfing. She checked her phone half a dozen times to make sure she hadn't somehow missed his return call. And she spent far more time than she would have liked to admit staring at the array of flowers Elliot had sent her with a stupidly content smile covering her face.

At 4:15, she heard his key in the lock. Between the early hour and the fact that he'd never called her back, she knew that whatever had been going on in Cragen's office involved her as much as it involved Elliot. The smile disappeared as dread built up in her stomach. By the time he'd closed the door behind him she knew her insides resembled a reject from the balloon animal training class at clown college.

Elliot's eyes fell first on the bouquet of flowers, his lips curving upward as he appraised them. "So I did good, right?" But when his glance turned to Olivia, his smile disappeared as suddenly as hers. "What? What's wrong?" He moved quickly, taking her side on the couch, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, cupping her chin with the other hand. "Liv, what happened?"

She was so baffled by his unexpected concern and confusion that she couldn't reply fast enough. In the time it took her to open her mouth, he was up again, tearing through the apartment, shouting back at her.

"Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?"

Catching his frantic energy like a cold, she was up in a flash, following him, grabbing his arm halfway to her bedroom. "Elliot, calm down. What's wrong with you?"

He looked at her, his head ducking down as he double checked her body for any obvious damage. Then his hands were on her face, his own face scrunched up in worry. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok." She reached up, taking his hands from her face, squeezing them between hers. "I'm fine. Now it's your turn."

Assured by both her words and tone, he relaxed, his whole body sagging as the adrenaline waned. "When I walked in, you were just staring and you were pale as a sheet and you looked sick, so I-"

"So you panicked." With their hands still intertwined, she led him back to the couch.

He shook his head as he sat beside her once again, sighing. "You scared the shit out of me."

Olivia shook her head back. "You scared the shit out of yourself. I had nothing to do with it." One side of her mouth curved into a smile, waiting for him to mirror her expression. Satisfied, she spoke again. "I was just sitting here."

"Just sitting here looking like death warmed over."

"I've been sitting here for hours waiting for you to call me right back. And then you show up several hours early-"

His half smile turned into a whole one. "So you panicked."

Shrugging, she couldn't keep herself from grinning back. "My panic is just quieter and less physical than yours."

With another, longer sigh, Elliot sagged back against the couch, reaching his arm out in a silent invitation for Olivia to snuggle into his side. Not needing any more of an excuse, she leaned over, snaking her arm around his waist and dropping her head onto his chest. His heartbeat was like magic, able to calm her completely in moments. They sat there quietly, simply enjoying the comfort, physical and mental, of being together.

But after a few minutes, Elliot's arm tightened the slightest bit. "I came home early because there's something I need to tell you and I didn't want to do it over the phone."

In that instant, the worry overtook her again, negating the relaxing benefit of being in Elliot's arms. She sat up, feeling her heart start to pound. "What?" God only knew what he was about to drop on her, but she was terrified. She'd already been through one fucking hell of a month and she wasn't finished with therapy from it yet; she hardly felt like she was in a position to take another blow.

Pinching his lips into a thin line, Elliot stared at his hands as he twisted them in his lap. His obvious anxiety was giving way to anger. He shook his head again, grimacing as he did so. "I wish there was some easy way to say this. I wish I didn't have to say it at all. I wish it wasn't true."

Horror after horror started rolling through her head, her overactive imagination happy to fill in the details of all sorts of hideous secrets about to be spilled. And with each second that went by, her anxiety began to morph into anger at Elliot's newfound dramatic streak. "Just tell me, damn it! I've been sitting here, waiting for you to tell me whatever the hell it is for hours, Elliot! Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as the things I'm thinking up." Because she'd already decided it had to be worse than both of them getting fired and several of their friends and coworkers being killed, as well as something unimaginably awful involving his kids.

Instead of telling her the world as she knew it was ending, Elliot leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "The bastard is trying to plead insanity."

Olivia took a moment, trying to make sense of the words. "What? Who?"

With an annoyed glare, Elliot practically growled the words at her. "Howie. Douglas. Whatever the fuck his name is." Unspent energy forced him to stand up and start pacing. "The bastard's lawyer is saying he's too fucking crazy to go to trial."

"Maybe he is." Sitting back, Olivia turned the information over in her mind. Howie hadn't seemed particularly sane to her, not with the way he called her Maggie and his brilliant plan of keeping her safe by holding her prisoner.

Elliot's fury, which by rights ought to have to been aimed at Howie, focused on Olivia instead. "What do you mean? He's not crazy. He's a sick son of a bitch, but he's not crazy."

Uninterested in having another fight with Elliot, Olivia merely shrugged. "Seemed like a psycho to me."

"He's not crazy. He's weird and he's clever and he's a hell of an actor but the man is hardly insane." His tirade paused long enough for him to glance at Olivia and determine that she didn't believe him. "That asshole led me and Fin all over the fucking city to lose us when we tried to follow him to where he was holding you. He lied about knowing you. I was going nuts trying to help you. You don't know what I went through trying to find you! He was busy playing word games with us while you were bound and gagged in his basement and completely at his mercy!"

And suddenly Elliot's fury was as contagious as his panic had been. Olivia was off the couch and in his face before she even thought to do so. "Don't you tell me what I went through. I know full well how he had me trapped in that hellhole! You don't know the half of it! I didn't tell you because you couldn't deal with it! You would have gotten pissed and hauled off and killed the man and I don't have the time to deal with calming you down right now!"

She knew even before Elliot's face turned an ashen white that she'd said the wrong thing. She knew exactly where Elliot's mind had gone, where she'd inadvertently directed it. She couldn't even stay mad at him for insinuating that he'd suffered more than she had at Howie's hands, not when she saw the pain, the shock, the guilt, written across Elliot's features. She'd been referring to the shame of wetting herself and the indignity of being cleaned by Howie's hands, the one thing, the only thing, she hadn't confessed about her time in captivity. Not to Huang, not to Elliot, not to anyone. And she had no intention of ever telling it. Admitting to it would simply refresh the humiliation all over again.

She couldn't think of what to say, how to deny what she knew he thought she'd just admitted. She hadn't meant it at all. She hadn't told him because she was humiliated, not because of how Elliot would react. Certainly he'd be furious at Howie for touching her, but she knew Elliot better than to think he'd blow up at her. Of course not. He'd be caring and supportive and gentle. And somehow, knowing how carefully he'd accept her admission, she knew it would just make her feel worse about it. She'd feel like a scared child. And she didn't want to feel like that all over again.

Elliot flopped back onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. "Jesus, Olivia, you said he-" His words were lost in a sob, his shoulders shaking as he cried.

Her anger was gone as quickly as it had flared, leaving her to feel terribly guilty in its wake. Lowering herself to the coffee table, she reached for his hands, pulling them away from his face in the hopes that he would look at her. "He didn't, El, that's not what I meant."

He looked up at her, unashamed of his tear-filled eyes. "Then what did you mean?" The way he was looking at her, the steady eye contact, the pure hope in his expression, it was too much for her.

Ducking her face away, she shook her head. "I was just angry. I didn't mean anything."

Although she was lying and she hated that she was, she knew it would be for the best if he never found out the truth. It was clear from looking at him, at the pathetic way he sought reassurance from her, that he'd truly suffered as much, if not more, at Howie's hands than she had. Or at least, he'd been affected by it more than she had been. Because the man sitting in front of her, unafraid to cry, unafraid to show her how desperately he needed her to be ok, wasn't the man he'd been a few weeks earlier.

She was still the same Olivia, albeit a bit more fearful for a short time, but still the same as before. Elliot could have been a complete stranger for all the differences she saw in him, differences she knew weren't due to the change in their relationship. He'd suffered while she was gone, felt a fear so deep that it rendered him a new man.

And it made her hate Howie even more.

She scooted forward, sliding off the table and insinuating herself onto Elliot's lap as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight. "I hope they fry the son of a bitch." It didn't matter than the kidnapping was a far cry from a death penalty case. All that mattered was that Elliot knew they were on the same page. And that Howie suffered for all the pain he'd caused.


	61. Day TwentyNine, part 1

Day Twenty-Nine

Monday morning started off the same glorious way as the previous mornings had. Olivia awoke slowly, her initial awareness consisting only of feeling warm and safe and comfortable. Slowly, it dawned on her that she wasn't still clinging to the last vestiges of a delicious dream, but that the utter contentedness stemmed from reality and not her unconscious desires. As she smiled and closed her eyes to revel in the feeling, the warm, heavy weight of the arm resting around her waist shifted, pulling her closer. She giggled as his breath tickled her neck, craning her head to kiss him.

His eyes were bright and alert, crinkling in delight at the thought that he'd managed to wake her. "Morning, beautiful."

Giggling again, she offered him another kiss. "A girl could get used to this, you know."

"That's the idea." His playful grin faded as he held her eyes, a sudden darkness creeping into his expression. "We have to be in court this morning."

The idea of court was never particularly appealing to her, even less so when the case hit so close to home. Nestling her face into his neck, she tried to distract him. "Why don't we skip it? It's not like they'll miss us."

Elliot groaned, though she couldn't be sure if it was due to her lips or her words. "Oh, babe, they'll miss us. You think for one second Cragen won't notice if we blow it off?"

Judging from Elliot's compliance as he rolled onto his back, Olivia suspected she was winning the argument. "I dare you to call him and let him know we're busy." Her hands slid across his chest as she moved to straddle him, well aware that she'd quite thoroughly distracted his body even if his mind continued to resist. "In fact," she paused to let her tongue dance across his throat, "I dare you to tell him just what we're busy doing."

His chest rumbled with a deep laugh while his hands wove into her hair, guiding her mouth back to his. "Poor man will have a stroke."

"That'll probably keep anyone from noticing that we're not there, don't you think?" She wiggled her hips as she spoke, knowing she was making it hard for Elliot to keep up with her words.

His eyes darkened again, though finally in desire rather than anxiety. "You are a cruel, cruel woman, you know that, right?" One of his arms snaked around her waist, holding her close to him as he flipped her onto her back. "I might just have to teach you a lesson."

She laughed for a moment, until she felt his hands cupping her breasts, and his lips slowly tracing a path to meet them. Then she was completely distracted herself.

Just like most days they were due in court, they were late. Normally, it was a case or a suspect or an emergency that held them up, allowing them to step into the courtroom with their heads held high and proud and unconcerned with the faces that turned to stare at the interruption. Unfortunately, their intimate relationship was too new for them to appear unfazed as they entered the quiet room. Both ducked their heads when Huang, who was on the stand, paused in his testimony. Others in the room, either annoyed or confused at the delay, turned to see what had captured the doctor's attention. Elliot's cheeks flushed red and Olivia gritted her teeth, wishing she'd had to sense to foresee the embarrassment and refuse to subject herself to it.

Although Elliot had been right about the various players, namely Casey, Huang, and Cragen, noticing their absence, Olivia knew there was no compelling reason for them to be there. Howie's trial had yet to start, postponed by the hearing his lawyer had insisted on, determining his ability to stand trial in the first place. Elliot didn't think there was a damn thing wrong with the man that prison wouldn't fix. Olivia, despite agreeing with Elliot that Howie deserved to suffer for the pain he'd caused them, wasn't so sure Howie was completely sane.

Mortified a million times over, Olivia slumped into her seat beside Elliot. He reached over, his arm stretching across her shoulders, squeezing her tightly. He might have been comforting her. He might have been comforting himself. He accomplished both, so she didn't actually care what his intention had been. Trying to repay the favor, she leaned over slightly, pushing herself against his chest. He responded in kind, pulling his arm tighter around her, and she turned into him, letting his scent wash over her with her next breath. In that second, she forgot entirely about being embarrassed and the reason why; instead, she was fighting back the temptation to climb into Elliot's lap right there. She succeeded for the most part, repressing her desires into a practically inaudible sigh.

She almost laughed when Elliot squirmed beside her. Perhaps, she realized, they'd just learned a very important lesson about trying to save time by taking a shower together that morning. It was hardly the time or place for both of them to be so distracted, leading Olivia to wonder how the hell they were ever going to get anything accomplished at work. Her mind wondered, thinking of Cragen and all his pointed concern over the years that they were too close to be partners. He'd been wrong all those times, however, Olivia begrudgingly had to admit he wasn't exactly wrong in theory. And he wasn't wrong about how dangerous a relationship between them could be.

As if reading her thoughts, Elliot stiffened beside her. She looked at him, expecting to find his eyes on her. But they weren't. His angry stare was burning a hole through Huang, fury radiating off him in waves. Olivia was thankful that Huang was across the room, on the other side of several armed men. Needing to know what had Elliot so upset, she forced her reflections on their personal life aside, tuning into the soft voice of the doctor.

"That's correct. It's my professional opinion that Mr. Ruskinowicz has Schizoid Personality Disorder."

The set of Casey's shoulders and the edge to her voice revealed that she shared the same anger and distress at Huang's words. "And what exactly does that mean, Dr. Huang?"

Huang was an astute student of human behavior and therefore couldn't possibly have missed the hostility in the ADA's tone. Regardless, or perhaps because, of his ability to read people, he answered without raising his voice or acknowledging Casey's demeanor. "It means that the defendant has been unable to form social relationships, except for his relationship with his sister. Typically, individuals with this disorder are only able to form meaningful bonds with a close relative. He lacks normal social skills and appears cold to most people."

Casey's arms folded across her chest. "So he doesn't play well with others."

Huang's lips quirked upward at the corners, the smallest hint of a smile. "Mr. Ruskinowicz is a loner, as he's been his whole life. He can't relate to other people and he doesn't want to."

Turning to the judge, Casey offered clipped words, announcing that she had no further questions, while letting everyone in the vicinity know that she was quite displeased with what she'd heard.

It was Howie's lawyer's turn, the young man, clearly appointed by the court, seemed nervous as he spoke. "So, my client is, in lay terms, crazy, correct?"

Olivia held her breath, not sure whether it would be Casey or Elliot who'd be next on trial, not sure which one of them was going to strangle Huang. She squeezed Elliot's hand, trying to convey that, no matter what happened to Howie, she was safe and alive and there next to him. Elliot didn't seem to notice her anymore, his full attention locked on Huang and Olivia could imagine the only thought in his head was a mental countdown of the amount of time the poor doctor had left to live.

In typical Huang fashion, his words took everyone by surprise. "Not at all."

The young lawyer was startled, checking his notes as though they'd lied to him. "Didn't you just testify that he has Schizoid Personality Disorder?"

Huang smiled, perhaps sensing that his head was no longer on the chopping block. "Mr. Ruskinowicz has a personality disorder. It in no way affects his ability to tell right from wrong or to understand the consequences of his actions."

Defeated, the lawyer sunk into his seat, belatedly opening his mouth. "No further questions, your honor."

Casey nearly leapt out of her chair. "Redirect, your honor?" Without actually waiting for a response, she focused on Huang. "In your opinion, Dr. Huang, the defendant knew that he was breaking the law by abducting Detective Benson?"

Huang's eyes briefly lighted on Olivia's. "Absolutely. He knew that it was wrong and he understood he would be punished for it. He repeatedly misled the police to protect himself."

Casey was happy once again, Olivia could hear it in her voice. "So he's competent to stand trail."

Huang nodded, glancing at Elliot with another small smile on his face. "In my opinion, yes."

The judge called for a recess shortly after Huang's words, only to announce after that half hour that Howie was going to stand trial and announcing the date when proceedings would begin. Olivia could hardly believe it. Elliot was shell-shocked as well; having steeled himself for the news he didn't want to hear.

All Olivia wanted was to spend the afternoon snuggling with Elliot and discussing anything other than the impending trial. But it was Monday morning and Elliot was headed for the office, and so a gentle touch to her shoulder was all he was able to offer her under Cragen's watchful eye. She couldn't even go home and relax as she was due for yet another session with Huang.

She hadn't seen him in a few days and wasn't really looking forward to rehashing personal things yet again. There was something in his eyes, though, as he approached her from across the courtroom, and it gave her pause about trying to wheedle her way out of the session. Instead, she remained where she was, pretending it didn't hurt to see Elliot walk away, pretending that she didn't want to run after him.

"Olivia, it's good to see you."

She tried to smile, but she knew it looked like a grimace. "I bet you say that to all your patients."

He grinned. "Only to the ones getting good news."

She could have sworn that her heart skipped a beat. He'd already gotten Howie held for trial, which prevented Elliot from committing several murders, which, in her book, equated to good news. She wasn't sure she could take anymore. "Good news? Besides that Howie's ass is going on trial?"

With a nod toward the door, he started walking at her side. "I think you're doing very well. So well, in fact, that there's an envelope on Cragen's desk clearing you for work."

She stopped dead in her tracks and her mouth fell open. "Are you serious?"

Huang smiled at her, his grin slowly fading as he recognized that she was truly shocked. "You've been bugging me to get back to work since you were found. Why are you so surprised?"

Emotions got the better of her and for a long moment, she couldn't answer for fear of sobbing. Despite her fight, a tear still slipped down her cheek. "I guess I wasn't sure you'd ever let me go back."

Huang simple smiled at her. "I didn't have anything to do with it. You're the one who suffered through it. You're the one who made yourself better."

She nodded, her mind reeling from the excitement and the overwhelming idea that she was finally going to go back to what she loved doing. "I can't take all the credit." Because as much healing as she'd done, Elliot had been helping her.

Huang nodded. "You guys are good for each other."

Mortified for the second time that day, Olivia hung her head and started to laugh.

As eager as she was to share her good news with Elliot, she had to wait longer than normal. It was Monday, after all, and Elliot had to stop on his way home from work to pick up Eli from the sitter. He called to let her know he was stopping by the grocery store to pick up diapers, sparing her from worrying about the delay. She wasn't much of a cook, but Olivia figured attempting dinner was as good a way to pass the time as any.

She was just straining the pasta when the door finally opened, and the previously quiet apartment was filled with the sounds of an irritated Elliot juggling various bags and his son as well as an irritated Eli loudly protesting his father's preoccupation with anything besides him. Happy to be off the hook with dinner, she abandoned the half made meal and snatched Eli from his father. Though her shoulder continued to plague her with pains from sudden movements, she was lucky enough not to have anything restricting her movements. Elliot was still trying to function with one hand splinted, something Eli did not understand or enjoy.

"How's my little man?" Leaning forward, she nuzzled Eli's nose, eliciting a squeal of delight from the boy.

A few muttered curses came from Elliot as he dropped the bags on the couch and turned to stare at her with a pout. "What about me?"

With a cocked eyebrow, Olivia turned, slowly looking Elliot up and down and then holding his gaze with such a seductive smile on her face that they both nearly forgot about the child. "How's my big man?"

Grinning and no longer the least bit irritated from work or carrying bags with one hand or traffic or whatever it had been that set him off, he approached Olivia and wrapped his arms around her and Eli. "God, I'm so glad to be home."

She dropped a kiss on Elliot's mouth before Eli started to squirm. "I made some pasta."

"Is it edible?" Elliot looked cautiously in the direction of the kitchen as though he expected to see smoke and flames pouring forth.

Shrugging, Olivia turned her attention back to Eli, who'd grabbed a fistful of her hair and wasn't letting go. "Did you miss me?" Eli babbled something at her, which she took as agreement.

A moment later, Elliot had pried Eli's hand away from her hair and settled the baby in his playpen. His face was dead serious when he turned back to her. "We need to talk."

Nervous butterflies took up residence in her stomach, shifting her mood so completely and so quickly that she almost felt dizzy. "What's wrong?" The idea of telling him that she was returning to work was suddenly a distant memory as she worried about his news.

Elliot dragged his hands down his face, opting to stare at them as he sat down next to the bags on the sofa. "I've been dreading this, but I think it's time we discussed it." He winced as he glanced up at her. "I mean, you're going to find out soon enough anyway."

Her heart was in her throat when she sat down in the chair across from him. "Just tell me what's wrong."

Elliot let out a heavy sigh, and then shifted forward so he could reach her hand over the coffee table. "Cragen's not going to let us work together, Liv." He shook his head, barely able to hold her eyes for a second at a time. "I really fell apart when you were gone and I made an ass out of myself at work."

With a determination she didn't quite feel, Olivia squeezed his hand. "Everyone goes nuts when their partner is in trouble. It comes with the territory."

Elliot shook his head. "No way Cragen's going to buy that we're just partners." He rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushing red. "I kind of told him I was in love with you."

"Oh, Jesus." She pulled her hand back, dropping her face in her hands and continuing to mumble. "What the hell possessed you to do that?" He jerked back like she'd slapped him, making her realize how harsh her words had sounded. "I'm sorry, El. I didn't mean it like that."

He shook his head, settling back into the sofa. "No, you have every right to be pissed. I ruined everything."

"No, you didn't." She stood, crossed around the table, and took a seat next to him. "We can't work together anyway, even if he let us."

Turning toward her, Elliot reached for her hand. "We've worked together for years and then I went and ruined it."

"I almost jumped you in court today, Elliot. There's no chance we'd make it through a whole work day without getting ourselves busted and you know it."

Looking far more smug than guilty, his eyes lighted on hers. "Well, you have a point there." He sighed again. "I talked to Cragen today. He's transferring me out as soon as you come back."

And in that instant, her good news turned to shit. She fought to hide the tears that were threatening. "Why should you have to leave? You've been in Special Victims longer than me. You love your job."

"I love you, Olivia." His hand cupped her chin, pulling her to face him. "I have always loved you, not the damn job." Leaning forward, his forehead pressed against hers. "I can work somewhere else. But I can't love someone else."

Pulling back, she wiped at her tears, wishing she'd had more of a warning, more time to get used to the idea. "But can you work somewhere else tomorrow?"

"What?"

She forced a smile past her tears. "Huang cleared me today." As much as she wanted to be happy, the tears wouldn't be denied any longer and she clung to Elliot as she started to sob.

He held her tight, rubbing her back as she cried. "We should be celebrating, you know?"

She nodded her head, wishing she could get a hold of her emotions, wondering how she was possibly ready to return to work. "And instead we're having a pity party."

He chuckled, his fingers moving to sift through her hair. "We make a hell of a team, don't we?"

Olivia looked up, finding Elliot's eyes and reveling in the love she saw there. "Yeah, we certainly do."


	62. Day TwentyNine, part 2

Day Twenty-Nine, cont'd

Long after the pasta was reheated and served, long after Eli was put to bed, long after the conversation had fizzled to soothing silence, Olivia sat in the living room, snuggled next to Elliot on the couch. She was still nursing her last glass of wine, the better part of the bottle having gone with dinner to help make up for the cooking skills she lacked. For the most part, she stared at the red liquid as she swirled it around in the glass. Her thoughts were hardly on the wine at all, save for keeping it from spilling over the edge.

And in keeping with his characteristic, excessively observant way, Elliot was had not missed her unspoken musings. "You suddenly become a wine connoisseur or something?"

Shaking her head, she handed the glass to Elliot since he was in a better position to reach the coffee table. Her newly free hand moved across his abdomen, tucking into his side. "I was just wondering."

"I noticed. I was wondering what you were wondering about."

"Don't get mad." She was leery of disturbing the tranquility by voicing her thoughts, but she was hoping Elliot could help her understand. Shifting slightly, she looked up at him. "If Howie's completely sane, why was he so convinced I was Maggie? I mean, the girl's been dead for God knows how long, so how could someone sane think his dead sister came back to life?"

Rather than an explosive restatement of his belief that Howie was the devil incarnate, rather than blowing off her questions, Elliot simply stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then he patted her shoulder. "Let me up."

She squeezed her eyes closed and wished she'd kept her damn mouth shut. They'd been having such a peaceful evening after the emotionally charged day, and she was sorry she'd disturbed it.

But like always, Elliot knew where her mind had gone and spoke reassuringly. "I'll be right back." He ducked into the bedroom and, true to his word, barely a minute had passed before he returned. Sitting beside her once again, he stretched his arm back around her shoulders and offered her the framed photograph he'd retrieved. "I grabbed this right before we found you. I don't even know why I took it."

His words barely registered as she stared at the window into Howie's world. The young girl in the picture, sweet and innocent with eyes far older than they should have been, stared at her, telling her everything she needed to know. She could only force out a whisper as comprehension constricted her throat. "This is Maggie."

Elliot's lip pressed against her hair. "Yeah."

She shook her head, telling herself there was no reason to cry, yet there were the tears, demanding to be acknowledged. "This could have been me when I was little." She could feel the way Elliot nodded against her hair. "She looks just like me."

"I know." Prying the frame out of her hands, Elliot sat it face down next to her wine glass. "The day you met him was the day after Phil hit you. Huang said seeing the bruise on your face might have made Howie think he needed to protect you."

It all seemed to make sense then, coupled with what she'd learned of Howie's history and Maggie's grim fate. Howie hadn't been able to save his sister, but he saw an opportunity to save Olivia and somehow became convinced they were one in the same. As much as she hated what he'd done to her, she couldn't blame him. How many times in her career had she gone overboard, trying to right a wrong that existed in her past? How many times had Elliot done the same thing? She could feel the anger, the venom, the fear, the sense of injustice, draining from her body as though someone had pulled the stopper. She couldn't hold on to her sense of righteous indignation; it was gone. She had the last piece of the puzzle, the one that made it all fit, the one that resolved the picture in front of her.

And she found there was an unbelievable sense of calm that washed over her as she let herself forgive Howie.

Perhaps it was just having that piece of information that in so very many cases proved permanently elusive - she knew why. Why she had to go through it. Why Elliot had to suffer through it with her. Why it happened to her. Why it happened at all. She even knew why Elliot had snagged the photograph when he didn't know himself. For once in her life, something made complete sense.

Unfortunately, it served to highlight the other areas of her life that remained less than fully explained. "So, speaking of pictures, El, would you like to tell me why there are a couple million snapshots of you and me in the bullpen at the moment?"

"Would I like to tell you? No." He groaned as he sat up. "But will I tell you for fear you'll get pissed off again?"

"Good boy." Despite her jovial tone, she knew whatever the explanation was something serious, something that required her to sit up.

"I was going to tell you. I just never found the right time."

Although he'd agreed to tell her rather than have another argument about it, Olivia was getting the idea that he'd almost rather have the fight than actually tell her. "And right now is as good a time as any."

"I told you that Kathy figured out her lawyer was an asshole. Well, the pictures are how she figured it out." He sighed, but Olivia couldn't honestly be sure whether it was because he didn't want to tell her or if he simply didn't want it to be true. "The lawyer hired a PI, without informing Kathy, who followed me around. Then, I guess after he'd chased me around for a while and saw that I was always with you, he decided we were having an affair." His eyes darted to hers as his lips curved into a half smile. "You know, back when we weren't having one. Then he started following you too, mostly only when you were with me, but not exclusively."

Pissed off at the whole idea, she picked the first thing that came to mind and latched onto it. "We're not having an affair."

First it was confusion, then recognition, then annoyance. He held her eyes the whole time, telling her without a word that he knew what she meant and that she was deliberately misinterpreting it. "The bastard lawyer tried to use pictures of us working as evidence that I was unfaithful." He finally looked away, shrugging noncommittally. "Believe me, I was furious when I found out, but the pictures came in handy."

Olivia folded her arms over her chest, feeling exposed and violated at the thought that she'd been followed, that someone had been taking pictures of her without her knowledge. And she took the disconcerting feeling out on Elliot. "How did they come in handy? For your photo album? Or maybe you wanted to decorate the mantle?"

"They gave us the proof we needed to go after Howie." Elliot delivered the words in a matter-of-fact tone, clearly so upset that she was angry with him that he didn't remember how careful he'd been whenever he mentioned Howie. "They were proof that he was following you."

"Oh." Feeling quite stupid and more than a little guilty for being rotten to Elliot for no reason, she looked down at her lap. And with her attention on her lap, she didn't realize that he wasn't about to drop it.

"And since we're speaking of pictures, Olivia, how about you explain to me why you didn't mention that you'd run into Marcus Avery? We wasted so much time chasing after him when we could have been on to Howie. At least if you'd told me he knew where you lived, we could have been expecting him to pop up."

His words hurt, making her feel stupid for having kept the chance encounter with Avery from him. But she hadn't seen any reason to mention it to her partner, with whom she'd been having a disagreement at the time. She'd seen Avery. Avery had seen her. And though there was no love lost between them, Olivia hadn't really deemed the man a threat. He hadn't appeared to be the sick, wasted drug addict he'd been when she'd met him; he'd been collecting the damn garbage out of the dumpster.

With a shrug, she looked up at Elliot who'd taken to pacing. "I didn't tell you about Avery because I didn't want you to worry about it. I thought I could handle it myself." She paused to take a breath, willing herself not to cry, since doing so would only drive home the point she was trying to make. "I didn't want my partner to have to take care of me." Regardless, her chin started to tremble as she realized how wrong she'd been. "I thought I was strong enough to deal with him. I never wanted to be rescued. I never thought I'd need to be rescued." She wiped at the tears, ashamed not that she was crying in front of Elliot, but that she'd been so stupid. "Obviously, I was wrong."

He was back at her side in an instant, the fight forgotten in the face of her tears. "You weren't wrong, Liv. You were right. Avery didn't touch you. You didn't need to be rescued." His arms wrapped around her, hugging her close.

She shook her head, denying herself the comfort of sinking into his embrace. "I needed to be rescued from Howie. I was helpless. I needed you then, didn't I?"

Elliot refused to let her go, keeping his arms locked around her until she stopped resisting. "You're right most of the time, Liv. You're strong and tough and you're the protector." Satisfied that she wasn't trying to get away anymore, he moved one of his hands to her cheek, turning her heard toward him. "Sometimes I need to be the hero. It's good for my ego."

His words were unexpected, making her laugh in spite of herself. But then she held his gaze and spoke words she'd never expected to be true. "As long as you're the one who's going to be there, I don't think I mind needing help every once in a while."

He smiled at her, a softness coming to his eyes as he understood that he was the only one she'd ever admit that to, that he was only one she'd ever want to protect her. "Even if you never need me, Liv, I'll always be there. Just in case."

_AN: There's only one more part after this! Thanks for everyone who stuck with me!_


	63. Day ThirtySeven

_AN: Here it is, the long awaited final chapter of this opus! Thanks to everyone who read and encouraged me and stuck it out to this point. The complete story will be up in a few days on my site jezykfic(dot)com/forum or you can email me for a proofread (for the most part) version in a Word file. Enjoy this last installment!_

Day Thirty-Seven

It had either been the longest eight days of her life or the shortest, though she could hardly pick which. It had only been one week of going to the precinct, taking her regular seat at her regular desk and staring over the mound of paper to which she'd been assigned until she received an additional clearance from an orthopedist regarding her shoulder. But when she looked at the man sitting across from her, it was hardly regular. Or at least, it was a new definition of regular that her psyche had yet to comprehend. She had nothing against Fin, and she had the good sense to thank some benevolent and merciful all-powerful being that Cragen had decided to pair her with Fin rather than Munch or Lake, but he was still Fin. And while in the grand scheme of things, Fin was a perfectly acceptable cop and friend, in Olivia's narrow world, Fin was not Elliot and therefore not acceptable as her partner.

Every time she looked over and met his eyes, she had to force herself to smile while she bit back the urge to ask why he was at her partner's desk. She wasn't ready to deal with that fact that he was at her partner's desk because he was her partner. She was pretty damn sure it would be at least a decade before she got her mind wrapped around that.

And that mound of paper, the same one that Elliot had supposedly been working on between the time he'd busted his hand and transferred to the 46, hadn't gotten much smaller since she'd taken it over. Temporarily disabled or not, paperwork wasn't her thing and she was willing to lay money on the idea that she'd call Fin her partner and mean it before she developed an effective system for completing paperwork.

Each day felt like a year as she faced the monotony of forms and the utter disruption of everything she knew. It seemed as though a hundred years had gone by since that night Elliot told her that he was transferring.

So while each day dragged on so long it felt like a forever, it still shocked her to her core when she woke up that Tuesday morning and realized it was already time for her to testify in Howie's trial. Casey had called her the previous evening, reminding her that she was on the witness list and expected to be called. While she'd known the call would come eventually, she hadn't expected it would be so soon.

She didn't feel like she was prepared. Huang told her she was ready. Elliot told her she was ready. Casey told her she was ready. Still she wasn't sure.

She tried going over the events in her head, forcing herself to recall all the details she didn't want to remember, demanding the same level of command over the facts of her own kidnapping as she would have expected of herself had it been any other case. It was always important to her to leave a good impression on the jury. Facts aside, she knew jurors were human and it was as much a popularity contest as anything else.

Lying in bed, she made herself disconnect from the events, pulling them through her mind, turning them around, making sure she wouldn't confuse herself or leave room for Howie's lawyer to challenge her. She'd never felt so nervous about testifying; she'd never felt so unprepared. There were holes in her memory, times when she'd been asleep, times when she'd been confused, times when her mind refused to record anything.

She heard the shower shut off and she knew she needed to get up. Elliot would know something was wrong if she hadn't moved by the time he returned. But she was more concerned about disappointing herself in court than worrying Elliot, and so her body remained in place, stubbornly unwilling to move, while her mind searched for an answer that wasn't there.

She didn't even notice when he entered the room; she only noticed that he was suddenly leaning over her, his brow wrinkled in fear.

"What's wrong? Are you ok?"

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, wanting to reassure him, yet knowing she wasn't about to lie. "I'm just trying to get things straight for my testimony."

He smiled, one of his hands reaching out to smooth her hair. "You're the victim, Liv; it's not all going to be facts and chain of evidence shit." He leaned over and pressed a kiss onto her mouth. "Besides, I'll be there to beat the shit out of anyone who's mean to you."

Unable to force back the laugh, she let it out, hoping it might take some of her gnawing anxiety with it. It didn't. "I don't remember leaving the basement." She searched Elliot's eyes, looking for an answer there. "I remember hearing your voice and then you being there, but I don't remember leaving."

He smiled again, obviously finding something pleasant in the memory. "The medics knocked you out with something. You were in a lot of pain and you were screaming, so they tried to help."

She nodded, deciding it was ok to not remember if she hadn't been conscious. But something about Elliot's smile caught her attention. "Then I didn't walk out."

He shook his head. "I carried you."

No wonder he was smiling, she thought. He knew she'd never agree to such a chauvinistic gesture, not even if it was necessary, had she been conscious. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You took advantage of me when I was drugged."

He grinned. "Damn straight." He leaned down, kissing her once more. "And I have every intention of taking advantage of you again as soon as we get home tonight."

After several more kisses, that she ruefully interrupted because she didn't want to repeat their humiliating experience from the week before, Olivia felt strong enough to get up and prepare herself physically for the day. A hot shower did a world of good, as did the fact that she was concentrating on Elliot's promise for that evening instead of what she'd say on the stand. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she found Elliot dressed and ready in the bedroom.

She smiled at the image of him, dressed in one of his nicest suits to go sit at the trial that he'd sworn he wouldn't miss a moment of. "You don't have to wait for me, El. Casey said they weren't going to call me first thing."

"You sure? I could drive you." He looked worried, as though she might break without his watchful eyes on her.

Nodding, her smile spread wider. "I want to do this on my own." And it was true. She wasn't going to let Howie's attack on her change her life. She hadn't broken yet and she wasn't going to.

As she waited on the uncomfortable bench just outside the courtroom door, she wondered if she shouldn't have taken Elliot up on his offer. She didn't need him there; she knew she was strong enough to survive alone. But she had to admit it would have been nice to have him beside her while she waited. Although, she pretty much always wanted him beside her, no matter what the circumstance.

The world disappeared while she stared at her watch, her eyes following the second hand as it made its impossibly slow journey around the face. She concentrated on that and that alone, telling herself she was relaxed until she actually was.

And then, the whine of the door hinges, the slapping of shoes against the tile. "Detective Olivia Benson?"

Her eyes jerked up, momentarily confused by the bailiff's words. She'd preoccupied herself so deliberately on her watch that she nearly forgot what she was waiting for. But her body responded automatically, giving her brain a chance to catch up. "Right here." She stood slowly, following the man back into the courtroom.

There were hundreds, thousands, millions of eyes on her. She could have sworn the entire world was staring at her as she walked up the aisle. Everything felt foggy, disjointed, unreal. She went through the motions as Casey swore her in, as she took her seat, as she tried to find Elliot in the sea of faces watching her.

Casey was asking her questions and she felt herself replying, but she didn't know how or what she was saying. Casey could have been speaking a different language for all she understood of it, but somehow, some distant part of her knew the language and was answering.

And finally, just when she thought she might find a way to voice that she didn't know what the hell was going on, her eyes locked on Elliot's. It only took a second for the world to come back into focus. Elliot was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, his lips set in a straight line. He was visibly distressed, a reaction so painfully familiar to her she wanted to cry. He wanted to protect her. He could read her and saw how nervous she was and it was driving him crazy that he couldn't intervene.

A rush of warmth surged through her at his desire to protect her. Just like with his children, his first instinct was to take care of her. And just like with his children, she knew that his drive to protect was rooted deeply in love. He'd said he loved her a million times since he'd carried her from Howie's basement and while she hadn't doubted his words, seeing his face right then made her understand that they were the absolute truth.

Casey's form shifted in front of her and Olivia recognized the silence meant she had missed something. Clearly the redhead had realized the source of her distraction, but Olivia wasn't the least bit embarrassed. Casey smiled. "Detective Benson, is the man who abducted you in the courtroom today?"

Olivia shivered, for the first time allowing her eyes to shift over to the defendant. He was dressed up in a cheap suit and tie, his hair brushed and his face clean-shaven, but it was still Howie. Olivia pulled her attention back to Casey and nodded. "Yes, he is."

Casey nodded back, obviously pleased that Olivia's attention was once again on her. "Can you identify the man who abducted you?"

With a deep breath, Olivia lifted her arm and pointed at Howie. "He's right there. That's the man who kidnapped me."

Casey moved then, allowing Olivia's eyes to immediately fix back on Elliot's. He was calmer, recognizing that she was on the home stretch. Olivia thought about how safe she felt when he put his arms around her and a smile spread across her face. She had enough strength to do what she needed to do, and when she didn't, she had Elliot's.

She was better. She knew Huang was right about that. But he'd been right about something else too.

They were good for each other.


End file.
